


Currents Convulsive

by Idea Turnstile (jatty)



Category: Pierce the Veil
Genre: Age Difference, Crime Drama, Detective!Mike, Drug Dealing & Organized Crime, Innocent!Tony, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7948102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/Idea%20Turnstile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Mike Fuentes has worked homicide for four years and, yes, of course it's taken its toll on him. So when he's called to investigate a body found in a ditch beside the road, he's elated to discover that, for once, his victim isn't dead. Drawn in by his John Doe's boyish good looks (though he'll never admit that to himself), Mike makes it his personal mission to ensure that this first living victim makes a full recovery--even after the case is solved.</p><p>Tony Perry is eighteen, stubborn, and completely convinced that his less-than-straightedge lover is not who led him to being found naked in a ditch alongside the highway. And though he doesn't exactly care for Detective Fuentes' seemingly constant surveillance of him ("for his own safety"), he wouldn't say he minds having him around. After all, he's kind of cute... And he buys him liquor sometimes when his lover won't answer his calls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I write when I'm bored at work and not able to write my usual genres because the screens are monitored. So let's have IT get a taste of crime drama!

It was hot outside, unusually hot for San Diego — even in the height of summer. Even with his suit jacket draped over the headrest of his passenger seat and his tie loosened, Mike felt as if he were melting into the leather seat of his black, squad issued SUV. It wasn’t even ten yet, but the sun was beating down hard. Maybe he should’ve taken the Chevy in to have its air conditioning fixed last week when he had the chance, but how was he to know his typically pleasant region was going to be hit with the heat wave from Hell? 

His hangover surely wasn’t helping matters either, though he hoped his dark sunglasses would hide how bloodshot his eyes were from the officers he was meeting. He doubted they’d give him any trouble (after all, what homicide investigator didn’t dabble with alcoholism?) but he was fairly certain he was still a bit drunk and didn’t want to test his luck. 

Traffic was backed up drastically on the highway, but with his dash light flashing its red beacon, he was able to drive down the right-side shoulder toward the police barricade. He could see the officers up ahead, their blue lights piercing through the ripples of heat rolling off the black pavement. There was a red EMT truck waiting beside the police cruisers — state troopers and local law enforcement alike — and yellow caution tape strung up off the side of the road.

Another body dumped like trash…

Mike rubbed his lips in want of another stiff drink before pulling in behind the state troopers. He couldn’t stand to see people treated this way. He was told that he would get used to it, that the bodies wouldn’t even faze him anymore after the first few years, but it had been five now and each body left a permanent stamp in his brain. He’d never once forgotten a single face, no matter how deserving of death the victim seemed to be. 

Once he shut off the SUV, Mike pushed open the door and stepped out. The heat immediately enveloped him, making him want to gag though he succeeded in holding it back. It was burning hot, and it surprised him that the first scent that struck his nose was tar and smog — not rot, not decay. 

The breeze must’ve been angled just right because the stench of a dead body in this sort of heat would be overwhelming. 

“What do you have for me?” Mike asked, approaching the yellow tape and the officers in their dark uniforms surrounding it. They all turned to him, then a female officer approached with a clipboard in hand. 

“Hispanic male, late teens or early twenties. Seems to have been thrown from a moving car. Possibly gang related,” she said, staring down at the forms. 

Mike stared at the reflection of the pages in her black sunglasses. No matter who you were — no matter what race or age — it call came down to this. Some cold, unfeeling person would list their beliefs about how you died in the most unemotional voice possible. Your whole life would be jotted down on blank lines within unsympathetic forms. 

Maybe the squad was right, Mike thought as he snatched the clipboard from the office. Maybe he cared too much to be in this line of work.

“Any identification?” Mike asked as he flipped through the pages. 

“Doesn’t have a thread on him.”

“Male?” Mike asked, wondering if he’d heard wrong before and turning back to the first page clipped to the board. It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but typically it was women he found naked and bloodied on the roadside, not men. 

“Yes. We don’t know the circumstances. We’re waiting on Forensics to examine the body. It hasn’t been disturbed,” the officer said, gesturing for Mike to follow her over to the yellow tape. “We know how you guys are about preserving the scene. Took one look at him and knew he didn’t make it.”

Past the tape, down a steep incline into the sandy, gravely ditch laid a white sheet stained with a large red patch of blood. 

“You had him examined by EMS, right?” Mike asked. There shouldn’t be that much blood coming off a corpse unless it was fresh. And the fact that no one called in a body being thrown from a moving vehicle at rush hour told Mike something was very wrong with this scene. 

“They checked him out. Body’s fresh. Probably hasn’t even been here an hour.” The officer walked over to the white sheet and knelt down in the yellowed sand. She grabbed two ends of the white sheet and Mike steeled himself, holding his breath, as she slowly pulled back the drape.

He should be used to this, but he’s not. The sight of the boy’s youthful face streaked with blood makes his stomach tighten again and it only gets worse and worse as the sheet was pulled completely aside. He laid on his side with one arm extended, and blood soaked every inch of his skin and matted in on his skull and in his short black hair. His eyes were open — God how Mike hated it when their eyes were open — staring blankly ahead of him at the sand and dirt, clumps of it settled in the corners of his hazy eyes in dried patches of blood.

The boy had worn gauges in his ears before this ordeal, though the gauges themselves were missing now — not even that small bit of clothing left on his body. All he had to cover himself were his tattoos, his many colorful tattoos, that hid beneath the smears of blood and sand.

“What makes you say it was gang related?” Mike asked as he pulled on a pair of white gloves. 

“We thought he looked the type,” the officer said. Mike’s lip curled in disgust though the woman missed it. “He must’ve pissed somebody off to end up out here like this.”

“Or he got grabbed by some sick son of a bitch. Not every Mexican in this city is a drug dealer, you know? And having tattoos doesn’t make you one either.” 

The officer huffed at him, then left his side in favor of returning to the congregation of officers on the road. Alone now, Mike felt some of the tension ease away as his eyes traced the body before him. 

The boy looked so small out here in the desert, and so sad lying in a dried, sticky puddle of his own blood. His skin was damaged so badly, road burn covering his back and shoulder, and those eyes…

Mike couldn’t help it. He reached out and made to wipe a cluster of dirt away from corner of his eye, doubting any damning evidence would be present in the teenager’s clogged tear duct. 

This was someone’s son, lying out in the dirt covered in bruises and blood and filth. Mike couldn’t forget that. The other officers may have been able to dehumanize him and downgrade him to details on a form for the sake of their own sanity, but Mike could never write another human off that way. 

He wiped the dust away from the boy’s eye, then sighed and looked down at the blood surrounding his head like a halo.

“What did you get yourself into?” He asked as his eyes traced the puddle down to the boy’s outstretched hand. Slowly, he reached for it and lifted it up to examine it. He was surprised to find it so limp, but he knew the body hadn’t been there long enough for rigor mortis to set in. 

If it was so fresh… How had no one seen him being thrown? 

Mike shook his head and examined the teenager’s skin and nails. He had the word “star” tattooed on his knuckles in all caps — had he had dreams of being a star, moving away to LA to get a career in acting or modeling? Mike doubted he’d ever know… There was more ink on his skin, and more blood too, but what caught Mike’s eye the most was the obvious evidence of a struggle. Two of his nails were broken and the other was caked with blood as though he’d scratched his attacker. 

“Who did this to you?” Mike asked, as though the boy could speak up and tell him. Mike envied the police who handled the live victims. Their work was so easy. 

Who did this to you? No, don’t be afraid; just tell me. 

Those officers got to make empty promises about protection and security. What did Mike offer? Hope that one day the murderer might be caught? Hope that one day the deceased’s family members might see justice? What sort of consolation was that for the victim? 

None.

Mike held the boy’s hand a moment longer, then slowly lowered it down into the sand where it had been. A brilliant star lying in the dirt… Someone’s son disposed of like garbage. It was breaking Mike’s heart a little more with every passing second. So much potential just tossed away.

Mike shuffled over a few inches, continuing his search for clues. He was examining a gash in the boy’s side, pressing a little on the cut before a large pearl of blood came rolling out and another began to trickle past his skin as well. 

This wasn’t right, Mike thought. Corpses didn’t bleed. They didn’t. No matter how hot it was or how fresh they were.

He looked away from the wound and stared at the boy’s face. Was he alive? How could EMS have missed him breathing? 

Just as he started thinking he was wrong, that maybe it was something to do with the heat or how the boy had landed when he’d been thrown, Mike saw him move. His hand twitched in the dirt, one of his fingers extending before his entire hand fell limp again. 

“Shit. _Shit,”_ Mike repeated, stumbling to his feet and turning to face the officers at the top of the hill. “Hey! Get EMS down here! He’s still breathing!”

“What?” The female officer called down, acting as though she couldn’t hear him.

“He’s still alive! Get someone down here!” 

When the officers at the top of the incline started bustling around, making themselves look busy, Mike turned back to the boy and grabbed the white sheet, using it to shield him from the sun which was no doubt burning his tanned skin despite the blood and sand.

“What makes you say he’s alive?” The female officer asked as she hurried down the incline. 

“He’s moving,” Mike said, looking back up at the road where the EMS workers stood watching him. “Get the fucking gurney and get him out of here!” Mike snapped, finally jarring them into action. “I want their names and I want them fired,” Mike said to the female officer, pointing at the EMTs. “That boy needs to be in a hospital. How long has he been laying out here? — Did anyone even bother to check him before pronouncing him dead?”

Apparently not convinced of Mike’s observations based on his word alone, the officer went over to the teenager again and stooped down at his side. She leaned over him, holding back her brown ponytail as she placed her ear next to his nose — listening for a breath. 

“Get the medics down here now!” She screamed. “I checked him for a pulse myself when I got here. I didn’t feel anything.” Now she was trying to cover her ass, not wanting to take the fall for it when the boy died of exposure as well as blood loss. 

“How long has he been out here like this?” Mike asked, glaring at the EMTs as they stumbled down the incline with the gurney. 

“We don’t know when he was thrown—”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about from the time you got here and pronounced him dead to now. How long have you left him laying out here in the sun?” 

Before the officer could answer him, the medics were at the boy’s side. Rather than moving him, they were wasting time checking his vitals. 

“Get him on the gurney! Get him out of the sun!” It infuriated Mike even more when one of the medics, a man with blonde hair, dropped the victim’s hand back down into the dirt after feeling his wrist for a pulse. The back of the teenager’s hand bounced on the hot sand, then twitched again as if pained. 

Rage struck Mike hard and gripped him. It took everything in his willpower not to pull back his fist and deck the blonde EMT right in his face. He might’ve, too, if the second medic didn’t call out her coworker on his lack of empathy just then. 

“Be careful with him! Here. Help me get the neck brace on. We need to get him out of this heat. Hurry!” While she worked to prepare the gurney, the blonde man slowly rolled the boy onto his back and fitted the bulky collar around his neck to stabilize him. 

Mike stayed close as they worked and said little more to the officer, handing her his car keys and telling her to see to it that his vehicle made it back to the station, before following the gurney up the incline to the ambulance. 

“Sir, you can’t ride with us,” the blonde medic started to say as Mike moved to climb into the back of the truck.

“This is an attempted murder investigation. If he says _anything,_ I need to be there to hear it myself.”

Something about that blonde man rubbed Mike the wrong way — something about his indifference and the way he’d just let that inked hand fall down into the dirt. He didn’t know if it was sociopathy or racially charged, but that lack of concern for human life left Mike sick to his stomach. That man was the very last person Mike was about to leave the boy alone with. Not in his condition. 

“You can ride,” the female EMT said, gesturing for Mike to move out of her way as she told the blonde man to drive before she closed the door. She then set to hooking up an IV in the moments before the vehicle started moving. “It’s hard with how dehydrated he is… His veins are so small. I’m glad you noticed. We both checked him, but he had no signs of life.”

“Maybe this will teach you to pay more attention,” Mike snapped, looking down at the boy. 

His eyes had closed half-way, but he continued to stare hazily ahead of him. They had him covered from the waist down with the AC running with just enough force to take the heat out of the air without being too much of a shock to his system.

“I just hope it’s not too late,” the girl said as she fitted an oxygen mask over the boy’s bloodied mouth and nose. She was gentle with him, showing all the compassion her coworker lacked. It didn’t change anything, though. Mike still wanted her fired.

Whoever this kid was, someone had beat the hell out of him long before he was tossed from that car… His left eye, which had been pressed down into the sand, had a deep gash over it and his face was swollen. He had a split lip that dribbled down his chin, sand matted in the trail of blood. 

Who did he piss off, Mike wondered as he scanned the boy’s neck and torso. His skin, where it wasn’t smeared with crimson blood, was so red and enflamed from laying in the heat. If he pulled through, if somehow he gathered more strength than what it took to twitch his fingers, he was in for a world of pain as he went through recovery. 

“Can I have a cloth or something?” Mike asked, unable to stand seeing that dirt gathered in the corners of the teenager’s eyes. He knew it was important to preserve whatever evidence he could if the boy didn’t make it, but it bothered him so much to see those brown eyes, still staring forward, clogged with dust and sand. 

The EMT handed him a small piece of wetted gauze and Mike carefully wiped at the dirt. As if sensing it, no matter how far gone into his head and the darkness he was, the boy’s eyes slowly closed once all the sand was cleared away from his tear ducts and eyelashes. The boy sighed, the first large breath he’d taken since they’d gotten him up out of the ditch. 

Mike wanted to ask if the EMT thought he had a chance or if she saw something that made his prognosis look bleak, but deep down he didn’t want to know. He wanted to have hope, no matter how small that scrap may be. 

When they arrived at the hospital, a crew of workers came out and assisted the EMT to get him out of the ambulance. Mike stood back and watched, rubbing his lips anxiously as the gurney was set carefully onto the pavement. He intended to stay back and let the nurses and doctors work, he really had, but when that blonde EMT got out and tried to touch the oxygen mask covering the teenager’s face, Mike lost his composure. 

His instincts told him not to trust that punk — not to let him anywhere near the boy whose hand he let tumble back into the burning sand. When that EMT started following them into the building, Mike intercepted.

“You need to stay with the truck,” he said, taking off his sunglasses and staring straight into the blonde man’s eyes. “I think we’ve got it covered. But thanks for you continued dedication. I can tell how much you care for the victims.”

Mike hoped to see something in the man’s eyes, a glimmer of fear or acknowledgement. He needed a clue to go on, but saw nothing. Maybe this punk was just a regular asshole with no business in the medical field, not a suspect.

“Whatever you say, Detective,” the EMT said, walking back toward the ambulance and closing the doors. “You’re the boss.”

( ) ( ) ( )

Mike was kept outside of the hospital room where the boy, John Doe, was being treated. He could watch through the glass as they changed out his IVs and hooked him to a stronger oxygen tank after they’d run their countless tests and took their X-rays. He was hooked to so many wires and tubes, monitoring his heart rate and his breathing while pumping him full of fluids to make up for how dry he’d gotten in the sun. 

Several officers and two members of the forensics lab came shortly after the boy had arrived, and they waited beside Mike at the window. They tried asking him questions, but Mike was too far gone in his mind to really listen or respond. He was worried for the boy, frightened that whoever had hurt him would want to come back and finish the job. 

There were just too many possibilities and, suddenly, Mike was taking back the belief he’d held onto for so long — that the officers who handled the live victims were lucky. The tension he felt was unparalleled. It was worse than any interrogation he’d conducted, worse than the times his investigation skills failed him and a killer walked free. This boy was alive and there was so much more that could happen to him, or that could go wrong. 

“Officers, you can come in now if you’d like,” the lead doctor said, standing in the doorway of the small room. “He’s still unconscious and in critical condition, so just be careful of the equipment. His injuries are rather substantial, but not fatal on their own. The worst is from exposure. We can only imagine he’d been lying out there since last night.”

“That long?” One of the officers asked.

“That would be why no one saw him get thrown. We’re lucky anyone saw him at all,” Mike said, thinking of how steep the incline had been to get back up on the road from within the ditch. “Who called it in?”

“Uh… What was it…” The officers looked at each other blankly and Mike rolled his eyes. The very least these people could do was act like they cared. Where was professionalism? Where was the dedication and commitment to serve and protect? 

“Regardless,” the doctor said, calling the attention back to himself, “apart from the dehydration, his head injury and road burn are most serious. We can’t tell whether he was conscious or not when he was thrown from the vehicle, but he struck his head multiple times and any one of them could have been enough to make him lose consciousness. He may need skin grafts on his left side and shoulder. But he’s not strong enough to risk that treatment at the present time. He’s got several fractured ribs as well as a fractured ankle.”

“He was found naked in the ditch, any signs of a sexual assault?” One officer asked.

“One of our nurses did a quick exam upon intake. There were no signs of sexual assault or activity. I know it isn’t my area to investigate, but I can assume based on his injuries and the nature of this attack, the missing clothes could just be an attempt to humiliate him or put him in his place if he upset the wrong person.”

“Our report said it could be drug related. Have you checked his blood for drugs or alcohol?”

“We’re still waiting on the results, but it shouldn’t be much longer.” The two police officers stayed to talk more about timelines with the doctor in the hallway while Mike and the forensic team came in. 

“He had tissue under his nails when I examined him at the scene. Make sure you get samples of that,” Mike said to the investigators. The medical staff had left most of the blood and residue on him except for where his skin had been sanitized before being hooked to the machines. He was as preserved as possible given the circumstances and Mike was hopeful that something was left behind, just one thing to tell them where this boy had been and who he’d been with before the attack happened. 

“Marty said he checked the sheet and the gurney he’d been brought in on and found blue fibers mixed with the blood,” one of the investigators, an older man with a white mustache, said. “I know he’s been through the ringer but there might still be some on his body…”

It would be hard to check, though, with his wounds cleaned and bandaged. Mike let the investigators work, knowing they were more experienced in handling live bodies than he. 

Mike settled for picking up the boy’s hand again after the old man took his finger prints. He held onto his left hand, the one hooked only to a heart monitor as opposed to his right arm which was stuck full of needles and tubes. 

This one’s knuckles had letters stamped to them as well. WARS, it read. 

Mike couldn’t help but smile. 

“Star Wars? Really, kid?” Mike looked down at his face. Late-teens to mid-twenties, the initial officer had said. The boy looked sixteen, but with the amount of tattoos he had (and considering how well-done they were), he had to be at least eighteen and capable of going to reputable shops. Possibly drug related, she’d tacked on, because he was Hispanic and had tattoos. 

He looked like a nerd to Mike. Like a naïve kid who had gotten himself into trouble. At least he wanted that to be the case… He was counting on that drug screen to come back clean. 

“If you’re finished with your work, we’d like to clean him up now. If that’s alright?” A nurse said, poking her head into the room. Mike hadn’t realized how much time had passed as he held on to the boy’s limp fingers, brushing the pad of his thumb over the S stamped on John Doe’s knuckle. He gently set his hand back down onto the hospital bed and looked over the boy’s face one last time before departing from the room. 

The officers were still there but the doctor was gone, leaving Mike alone with them as he watched the nurse work to clean away the blood on the boy’s head and neck. 

“So what’s homicide doing here? Until he quits breathing, this isn’t your case. I heard they drug a girl out of a dumpster on the south side. Shouldn’t you be out there helping with that?”

“A girl on the south side? Another dead prostitute. Not much to investigate,” Mike said. He could tell the officers didn’t want him here. They wanted to claim the glory if the boy was identified and take credit for his ‘rescue.’ They had a right, in a way. So long as John Doe kept sucking air, he wasn’t Mike’s to look after. 

“So what are you doing here? Waiting for him to kick the bucket?”

“Don’t any of you read the paperwork when you’re assigned a case, or do you just show up and play Twenty Questions until someone clues you in?” Mike snapped. “I was called to assess a body alongside the highway. Turns out, he’s still breathing.”

“So why not just call it a day and head home? Or crawl back into the whiskey bottle you passed out in last night. Haven’t you ever heard of a shower?”

“Fuck you,” Mike hissed. So much for the fraternity of law enforcement, Mike thought as he stormed down the hallway. He had no friends or brothers here. The good old boys in blue never had any respect at all for the corpse flies. They only wanted them when they needed a body taken off their hands, otherwise they didn’t care to have the detectives buzzing around their cases — their breathing victims. 

Mike was storming down the hallway toward the exit when he spotted to doctor again. He waved the man over and was surprised when the doctor came readily, no bullshit about being too busy to talk. 

“What can I do for you, Detective? I gave all the samples we took from John Doe to your forensic team before they left. Is there anything else you need?”

“The bloodwork. Did it show anything?”

“It showed a little alcohol but nothing out of the ordinary for someone his age. He was below the legal limit though it’s hard to say if that’s how it was when he was thrown.”

“No signs of any illegal drugs or prescription medications?”

“When we did the test, initially we searched for your main drugs — marijuana, narcotics, hallucinogenics, alcohol. He came up clean besides a trace amount of THC. Again, nothing uncommon for someone his age. The percentage is so small it was hardly worth mentioning in the report. We’ll test the second sample more in depth to see if he’s on any prescription medications we might not know about. Without knowing his history, we need all the clues we can get. Right now his organs are barely functioning, but we need to make sure it’s from the incident and not an underlying medical condition. Other than all that’s happened to him, he’s a fit young man. He’s well taken care of — well fed. Someone is missing him.”

“If his nose is that clean, what’s he doing dead in a ditch?” Mike asked, knowing the physician couldn’t possible hold the answers. 

“The investigations team would be more of a help than me in figuring that out. It could be anything from a random crime to a gang initiation. I’ve seen it all come through these doors.”

Mike thanked him and asked to be updated if anything happened or turned up. He was prompted to leave his contact information with reception and after doing so he helped himself to a cup of coffee in the lobby. 

What the hell was a boy like him doing in a ditch beside the highway? Mike couldn’t piece it together. Drugs would’ve been the easy answer, but the toxicology screening came back negative except for a few trace amounts of alcohol and THC. The tattoos he had, at least the ones Mike had seen, weren’t gang affiliated. No gang member, even a nerdy one with _Star Wars_ branded on his knuckles, was going to pass a drug test. 

The doctor suggested a random act of violence, but everything about the attack screamed that it was personal… He’d been beaten. He’d been stripped. He’d been thrown out of a moving car and left to die in a sandy ditch beside the highway — out in the open. Whoever did this wanted him to be found that way. They wanted to humiliate him, dehumanize him, and shock his family with the conditions of his body. 

Mike wanted to know what happened, but it wasn’t his case. The other officers had made it clear they didn’t want him so much as breathing on their case either. If he was investigating, he was going to have to do it on his own — along with all the other cases piled up on his desk at the station.

It frustrated him, too, to know that it wouldn’t be until tomorrow that a missing persons report for John Doe would even be filed. He’d been in the ditch overnight, which meant he’d most likely gone missing the night before. No matter how well his presumed family knew him and knew he “wouldn’t stay out so late without calling,” he couldn’t be reported missing until twenty-four hours had passed. 

“Hey, Detective? You know it’s illegal to park your SUV on the highway, right?” 

Mike turned away from the Health and Safety postings on the bulletin board in front of him and faced the lobby where his brother was now standing. 

“I gave someone my keys,” Mike said, stirring his coffee with one of the small, red straws as he closed the distance between himself and Vic.

“Yeah, and they called me to come pick it up at the station. Heard you followed some guy to the hospital. That’s unusual for you.”

“That’s because my victims usually end up at the morgue.”

“I know! So what happened with this one? You give him mouth to mouth and bring him back from the dead?”

“The EMTs were negligent. He was still _bleeding_ when I got down there. Corpses don’t bleed.”

“Damn. Someone’s getting fired over that if he doesn’t pull through,” Vic said, a frown tugging on his lips for only a moment before he covered it with a smile.

“I want them both fired today,” Mike said, thinking back on how indifferent the blonde man had been. Maybe no one else would’ve picked up on it, but Mike couldn’t stop his mind from replaying the moment he’d let that boy’s hand drop into dirt. He knew his patient was still alive and he treated him _that_ carelessly? He had no businesses working as an EMT. “He laid there in the sun for over an hour after police got there. Every minute counts in that kind of situation. At least they had the decency to cover him with the white sheet; otherwise he would’ve continued getting sunburnt all to hell.”

“Shit… And you said he was clearly still alive?”

“He was bleeding and he moved when I touched him. I don’t know how you could miss that sort of thing when your entire job revolves around checking people’s vitals. I can get that his heartrate was slow because he’d been bleeding out and burning alive and god knows what else, but come _on.”_

“Yeah… I’m not sure how they would’ve missed that. Are you good to leave now though? I was just asked to bring you your car so you can get back to the station. I kind of need to go back to work, too.”

“Right, yeah. I’m done here. Not much else we can do,” Mike said, filling Vic in on a few more details as they walked out the hospital’s front doors. 

It felt wrong leaving the boy behind — leaving “John Doe” in the care of strangers. Maybe it was easier dealing with victims who were already gone… You didn’t have to worry about them or fear for them. You didn’t have to wonder what was going to become of them or if you’d even be allowed to find out. Even so, Mike was grateful the boy was still breathing, even if it was just for a short time. If he passed, it wouldn’t be naked in the desert where he would burn and rot. He would be clothed in the hospital, his dignity preserved even if his life couldn’t be. He wouldn’t suffer that way — at least that was what Mike hoped. He was so full of fluids and medications, there was no way that boy could feel a thing.


	2. Chapter 2

Mike couldn’t get the boy’s face out of his mind — or, more specifically — those eyes. Whenever he tried to sleep, he saw his John Doe lying there in the dirt with his eyes wide open, caked with sand and grime. He’d see that hand twitch and shift in the hot sand and, when he was closer to sleep, he would imagine the boy turning to stare up at him. It jolted him awake so many times he gave up on rest for the night and got out of bed. 

He’d had a bit to drink before lying down, but not much and tested his balance once he was on his feet before going into the bathroom. He showered and shaved, went through his whole morning routine even though it wasn’t yet four a.m., then put on one of his nicer dress shirts and an ironed pair of slacks. 

After that he made himself a pot of coffee in the kitchen, staring at the wall mostly while the machine gurgled and hissed as the coffee brewed. 

What had that boy been doing to end up in the ditch? It wasn’t drugs. It wasn’t alcohol. He hadn’t been raped… So why was he nearly killed? Who had he angered? What did he know that someone wanted him to keep quiet about?

Mike had gotten fixated on cases before, every officer had at least one case he kept going back to, but this one was different. This time the victim was still alive and awaiting justice, not being kept on ice in a cooler in case new evidence emerged sometime down the road. He wanted justice and his family would want justice, and Mike didn’t want to let him down…

Even if it _wasn’t_ his case, he didn’t trust those officers to help John Doe. They, like the officers who had been at the scene, probably thought him a gang member or a drug addict who didn’t pay his dealer on time. They were so blinded by their stereotypes and profiling methods that they couldn’t see what was before them.

“Or maybe you’re blind,” Mike whispered to himself. Why did he care so much?

Again, those eyes popped into his mind. So big and brown and innocent… He thought about the _Star Wars_ tattoo on his knuckles. He was a kid. A nerdy, innocent kid. What the hell could he possibly have done to get himself into this mess?

Mike couldn’t believe — or didn’t want to believe — that a boy who looked so innocent could be involved in something bad or dangerous. 

He thought it over as he drank his coffee, then got himself ready to go. Staying here wasn’t productive and he would rather sit in his office all night looking over his paperwork. If nothing else it would help bore him until he couldn’t avoid sleep, big brown eyes or no. 

Mike made it to the station and walked past the few officers who worked silently, typing or reading their files with looks of disdain on their faces. No one acknowledged him as he shut himself away in his little corner office and turned on the yellow lamp atop his desk. He tried focusing on the reports surrounding a young girl who had been killed and found dismembered behind her father’s work shed, but the details were too gruesome for him to stomach before sunup. 

Why did people have to be such pieces of shit? Why slaughter a ten-year-old girl? Why dismember her and leave her where her father would find the body? What kind of a sick psychopath did that without leaving damning evidence behind?

It was someone close to her, no stranger. Just like John Doe. 

Someone close… 

What if the father murdered his own daughter? He was the prime suspect — him and his brother, her uncle. But why kill her? What could a ten-year-old have done to deserve death? Mike had interrogated the father and he’d seemed cold and angry as opposed to distraught and overwhelmed. Even that wasn’t unusual though. People experienced grief in many ways, and showed it in even more ways than that. Mike had been punched in the eye by a woman when he asked her if she murdered her sister. People at their worst were unpredictable…

The parents didn’t have a life insurance policy on their daughter, so where was the motive to kill her if the father was involved? He seemed happily married before the incident so it probably wasn’t an attempt to get back at his wife. 

Did John Doe’s parents have life insurance on him? What if it was his parents who wanted him dead? It was a sick thing to think, but it happened. Parents killed their children more often than Mike liked to consider. But how could they do that to John Doe?

How could anyone do what they did to that ten-year-old girl?

Mike groaned and sifted through the paperwork on his desk again before turning to his computer. He stared at the blank screen a moment before turning it on and waiting for it to boot. 

He doubted he’d find anything, but he couldn’t help but look. Once he’d logged on, Mike brought up the missing persons database. He narrowed down the field to fit his John Doe’s specs, then began the slow scroll through the latest missing teens and young adults. 

There were a lot of punks on that list of missing people. A lot of mug shots and evidence suggesting these people may have gone missing of their own accord or got shot down by a rival gang. Then there were the younger teens, kidnapped by a jealous parent who thought they deserved full custody. 

None of them looked like his John Doe… Not a single one. 

Mike stared at the screen, then looked down at the contact book he had tucked between his computer tower and desk phone. 

An officer named Terry Woodlow oversaw their district’s missing persons unit. If a hysterical parent came in to report their child missing, they would have had to see him. And he would’ve politely told them they needed to wait twenty-four hours before making their report because there was a chance it was all a misunderstanding and their son would turn up on his own.

Without looking at the clock, Mike pulled out the contact book and searched for Officer Woodlow’s cell number. As soon as he found it, he dialed using his desk phone, hoping it’d look more official coming from the station.

“Woodlow,” came a gruff voice, heavy with sleep, from the other end after only a few rings.

“Officer Woodlow, this is Mike Fuentes. Homicide.”

“Homicide?” He said, sounding baffled. After all, what could a dead body possibly command of him before six in the morning? “What do you need, Fuentes?”

“I need to know if someone came in yesterday or maybe the day before and talked to you about their son. A Hispanic family.”

“Hispanic? Um…” Woodlow let out a heavy, sleepy sigh as he thought. Anyone else, Mike was sure, would be pissed to have been woken up with such a random question. But a person working in his department, a person whose job revolved around finding lost loved ones, had to have some sense of empathy equal to Mike’s own. He could sympathize with wanting answers fast when a case depended on it. “Now that you mention it, yeah… There was a woman who came in yesterday afternoon — No. Day before yesterday. She had a translator with her. Couldn’t speak English. She was looking for her son.”

“Do you have any more information on their case? I… I need to identify someone who isn’t in the system as missing yet.”

“I took notes on it, but it hadn’t been twenty-four hours. I couldn’t open an investigation. The file’s locked in my desk. I can get it to you when I come in, but I can’t guarantee he’s the boy you’re looking for. There’s lots of Hispanics in San Diego.”

“I know,” Mike said. He didn’t want to hear it reiterated how hard this would be. “Do you remember their names or their son’s name?”

“No… I really don’t. The boy was eighteen. I remember that much. He didn’t come home after a party or after going to friend’s house and he never made it to school.”

Beaten and nearly murdered by his friends… That’s what he was saying. 

“Did they give you a photograph?” Mike asked.

“Yeah… It’s with the file. I can give this to you when I get in.”

“Yes. I understand you’re tired. I’m sorry for calling so early, but…I really need to put a name to this face.”

“I can tell you what I remember about him now if you think it’ll help. He’s a recognizable kid. Got tattoos on his arms and his ears stretched out. I thought gang member at first, but his mother insisted he was clean. Got really angry about it.”

That was it. That was John Doe. Mike _knew_ it. His real name, his contact information, it was all locked in Woodlow’s desk.

“Thank you. That — That actually sounds like my John Doe.”

“Oh. I’m glad I could help then. I’ll get that file to you first thing.”

“Yes,” Mike said, knowing he didn’t have the patience to wait. “Thank you. I appreciate it, so much.”

“It’s no problem. It’s just a shame… That boy, something bad must’ve happened to him if homicide’s working on it this late.” 

“Found him in a ditch along the highway. Someone threw him out of a moving vehicle. The EMTs ruled him dead at the scene.”

“That’s too bad…”

“It is bad. He laid there an hour before I showed up. He was still alive.”

“What?”

“He’s still alive.”

“And they called homicide? They ruled him dead?”

“Dead on scene. Left him there in the dirt.”

“I trust he’s at the hospital now, right?”

“Yes. That’s why I wanted a name for him. Someone’s clearly missing him and it feels wrong to have him in the hospital all alone.”

“You’re not used to dealing with the live ones, are you, Fuentes?” Woodlow laughed in a strange, cynical way. “Somebody’s head is going to roll for that mistake, I can tell you that now. Every minute counts.”

“Especially with the heat we’ve been having. It’s a miracle he’s still with us.” They talked only a moment longer before Woodlow hung up. Mike tried to tell himself that the man was fully awake now and he’d be on his way into the office soon to give him the file, but he just couldn’t force himself to be patient. 

Everything he needed was just a few feet away, kept from him by a cheap locking mechanism. 

He thought about the boy, eighteen with a hysterical mother unable to speak English. That poor woman was worried sick, afraid no one would take her seriously either because of the language barrier or her legal status. He couldn’t leave them waiting, wondering.

Mike stood from his desk and walked back out into the main room of the station, looking down at all the rows of desks and offices. 

Where did Woodlow sit? There were a handful of officers working that he could ask, or he could begin in the daunting task of walking up and down every row reading name plates.

“Do you know where Officer Woodlow sits?” Mike asked each officer he passed. Several pretended they didn’t hear him, one woman offered her sincerest apologies at not knowing, and finally a member of the cleaning staff pointed after hearing Mike ask everyone else. 

“Just down there. Last desk on the left.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a master key for these desks would you?” Mike asked the worker, not surprised when he shook his head no. 

“Maintenance might. He gets in at seven-thirty.” The man looked at Mike doubtfully, as if he knew already what Mike was planning to do.

Mike thanked him again, then approached Woodlow’s desk. He wanted to feel guilty for what he was about to do, but he couldn’t. What was a broken lock in comparison to the horror John Doe’s family was going through?

The desks were designed to lock from one access point in the center of the front panel. Underneath was the mechanism, but Mike couldn’t figure out a way to jimmy it to let go of its hold. He tried picking at it with a paperclip, but it took close to ten minutes before the lock finally released. It wasn’t top notch security by any means, but it served its purpose — usually. Strong enough to keep out an idiot, but not enough to stop another officer.

Once he was able to get the drawers open, Mike began digging through them, pulling out manila envelope after manila envelope in search of the document he needed. He was glimpsing through case files and police reports, photographs and loose sheets of notebook paper. 

Where would Officer Woodlow tuck away note on a case that wasn’t yet a case? Not in the neat, organized case files. No… Mike searched another two drawers before he found a messy, frayed notebook. He flipped through and it immediately found what he was looking for. 

About two-thirds into the notebook, Mike found a photograph taped to a mess of scribbles on the page. 

It was his John Doe — no doubt about it. He was smiling in the picture, black hair tucked up under a hat which rested slightly askew on his head. He was smiling, showing a row of perfect teeth. Those brown eyes tore right through Mike and left him speechless, sitting in Woodlow’s chair.

He stared at the face, then looked down at the scribbled notes.

_Antonio Perry. Eighteen. Missing after party(?) Visiting with friends(?) Partying = Not at school on time._

Even Officer Woodlow’s notes on the case reeked of skepticism. If Mike hadn’t found his body in a ditch, he would’ve believed his John Doe — his _Antonio Perry_ — was just hung over after a good party with some friends and didn’t want to face his mother just yet. Mike had been there plenty of times as a teenager, especially when he’d been a senior preparing to graduate. 

Beneath the notes were the last date and time Antonio had been seen and the time his mother attempted to report him missing (the next morning at eight a.m.), as well as a name and phone number. 

That was all Mike needed. He looked over the photograph one last time, telling himself it was because he wanted to be certain this was his John Doe and that he wasn’t spurring false hope.

But there was no mistaking those brown eyes and Mike knew it. 

Using Woodlow’s desk phone, Mike dialed the number at the bottom of the page. He knew it was early, but doubted the woman would be sleeping with her child missing. After only two rings a woman answered, but her voice sounded much too young to be Antonio’s mother.

“Hello. This is Detective Mike Fuentes from the San Diego PD. Is this—”

Before he could even finish, the woman on the other end of the line let out a sob. She’d heard “Detective” and assumed the worst. Seconds later she was calling to someone in Spanish. Mike couldn’t make out what she said, she spoke too fast and held the phone away from her ear, but seconds later she was back.

“I’m sorry, Detective. What was that you said?”

“I was asking if this is Claudia.”

“No, Sir. This is her daughter. Mom doesn’t speak English. Is Tony alright?” Her voice shook as she asked, implying that she already expected the worst possible news. 

“We found Tony yesterday morning. He is alive,” Mike tacked on quickly, not wanting to draw out any unnecessary suspense. “But—”

“He’s alive? Tony’s okay?” Again she held the phone away from herself before rapidly saying something to her mother in Spanish. _The officer says Tony is alive. They found him yesterday._ “Mom wants to know if he’s okay and why you’re just calling now,” the girl said. 

If she’d be patient, Mike thought, he would be able to tell her without dragging it out.

“We had trouble identifying Tony. He is… He’s in critical condition at the Alvarado Medical Center. If you’d like to come to the hospital, I could meet you there and it would help us move our investigation.”

“Investigation? He — He was hurt by somebody? Somebody hurt Tony?”

“I don’t want to discuss too much over the phone. As of right now, we don’t have any leads. That’s why I’d like to meet at the hospital as soon as possible. We need you to provide an ID and then we can talk about who were the last people to see Tony before this happened.”

“Okay… Alvarado you said, Detective?”

“Yes. Will you be able to find it okay?”

“I have GPS on my phone. We’ll leave right now. Thank you so much, Detective!”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you soon.”

The girl thanked him again, then hung up the phone. Mike felt oddly satisfied with himself as he set the phone back down on the cradle. He passed one last glance to the notebook on Woodlow’s desk, then peeled the photograph of Antonio — Tony — off the page and placed it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He told himself it was to help Tony’s mother with her identification, but took the photo out and looked it over three more times before he even got to his SUV in the dark parking lot. 

Tony Perry… The name rolled off his tongue and he found himself whispering it over and over as he drove to Alvarado.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy you guys are enjoying this story! I didn't expect it to be noticed at all since AUs aren't very common over here, but you guys are amazing! <3


	3. Chapter 3

Mike waited at the hospital’s front desk for his John Doe’s mother and sister to arrive. He knew he should’ve called the other officers who were actually assigned to the case and let them know about his breakthrough, but he didn’t feel up to sharing the credit. Nor did he feel like being barred from witnessing the reunion he was solely responsible for. 

When the two women arrived, Mike recognized them immediately by their posture and frantic steps as they hurried through the automatic front doors. The young woman was clutching the hand and arm of her mother, comforting her it seemed, as they came forward.

“Detective Fuentes?” The girl asked as she neared the desk.

“Yes. You’re here to see—”

“My brother. Tony. Is he okay?” The girl’s eyes were wide and rimmed with tears, and her mother was openly crying. Her face was creased with sorrow and worry, and Mike pitied her knowing that her anguish was only going to grow stronger when she laid eyes on her battered child.

“I’m still waiting to speak to the doctor on duty. He’ll meet us at the room when he’s finished with his current patients. Right this way.” He took them in the elevator to Tony’s room in the ICU, the hospital’s fourth floor where a nurse was waiting for them.

She led them into small room, well lit despite the hour and whirring with the noises of machines. The mother gasped as soon as she laid eyes on the bandaged form lying in the bed. She said something quickly to herself which sounded like a prayer, then crossed herself and covered her eyes.

_“I can’t do it,”_ she said, turning away with her eyes still covered. 

Her daughter hurried to put an arm around her and tried murmuring words of encouragement, but her mother shook her away and asked her to look. Watching the woman fall apart was hard, but Mike merely lowered his head and waited for the sobbing to quiet down. 

“Take your time, ma’am,” the nurse said, her voice soft and pleasant. 

The daughter whispered to her mother a bit longer, then stepped over to the bed and grimaced. Tears rolled down her cheeks which were already stained and flushed, and her bottom lip quivered as she spoke — even before the nurse reached over to remove the oxygen mask from their John Doe’s face. 

“That’s him. That’s Tony. What happened to him?” She asked before letting out a heavy sob and covering her mouth. She turned to look at Mike, then looked back down at her brother. She clutched onto his hand then and stroked it with her thumb.

The nurse excused herself then, and left the three of them alone in the room with Tony.

Mike explained it to them as best he could in Spanish, letting the daughter translate where his knowledge was lacking. He didn’t spare details, but made sure his description was gory. Their loved one had been beaten, stripped, and thrown from a moving vehicle into a ditch where he laid overnight. 

_“Does he have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt him or get back at him?”_ Mike asked.

_“No!”_ Insisted Tony’s mother. Her son was good and kind and well-liked by everyone.

_“Everyone but the people who threw him,”_ Mike said, turning to the sister. If there was something he was keeping back, she would know about. Whether she was the older sibling or younger, Mike couldn’t tell, but he knew that if he had a problem when he’d been a teenager, he went to Vic before anyone else. “Do you know anyone who would want to hurt your brother?” He asked.

The girl looked at her mother, then down at Tony — the simple glance being enough to make her breath hitch again. 

“Yes. A lot of people.”

“A lot of people? Why?” Mike asked.

“Can we talk about it some other time? When Mom—”

“If you know something that can help, I need to know as soon as possible. Whoever did this could come back when they realize he survived.”

She stared at him sadly, then looked at her mother who was wiping her eyes and nose on a tissue she’d pulled from her purse. 

_“Mom, come hold his hand,”_ she said. _“He needs you.”_

The woman resisted at first, claiming it hurt too much to see him this way, but with Mike insisting as well, the woman finally came forward and held her son’s hand. The smallest touch caused her to begin weeping again and she reached up to stroke a patch of Tony’s dark hair where it poked out above the bandages on his head. Once she was occupied, Mike led the sister out into the hallway — her mother didn’t even notice.

“Tony has been hanging around some real bad guys lately. Mom doesn’t know about it… She’s very religious, and Tony… He—He’s been seeing someone she wouldn’t approve of. It’s…It’s a guy.”

“So Tony is homosexual?” Mike asked. 

It was with a fair amount of shame that the girl said yes. 

“Who is he seeing?”

“A really bad guy — the _brother_ of a really bad guy.”

“I need a name,” Mike said. He wanted to be patient with her, but the clock was ticking and he wanted to know and be on the case before the other officers caught wind that he was taking over their case. 

“Luis Alfaro. He doesn’t go to our high school or anything. I don’t know how Tony met him. His brother is Miguel Alfaro. He’s a drug dealer, but Tony’s _not._ Tony knows not to do those things.”

“Are the Alfaro brothers gang affiliated or independent? Do you know?” 

“I’m not sure. I think they’re independent. Tony would’ve told me if they were in a gang…” But now she looked doubtful. “I do know that Miguel didn’t like Tony and Luis being together. He told Tony all the time to stay away from him but Tony…he’s in love with Luis. I-I can’t say why. That’s who he was with the night he went missing. He told Mom he was going to our family friend’s house, but he told me he was going to see Luis.”

“Thank you. That information is very helpful. Whoever did this to Tony…we’re going to catch them.”

“I hope so,” she said, looking past Mike back into the doorway of the room. “Do—Do you think he’s going to make it?”

“It’s hard to say right now, but your brother seems very strong. He’d been outside in the sun all morning and he was still hanging on. I think…now that you’re both here with him, he’ll feel motivated to hang on a little bit longer.”

“I hope you’re right. Mom has a bad heart. I don’t think she could take it if we lost Tony. We almost lost her when Dad died…”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Mike said, gesturing for her to go back in the room. He had the names of two drug dealers to go off of and believed that to be enough for now. There was no way they weren’t in the system for _something._ Then all he needed was to pay them a visit. He’d play it like a homicide investigation, give them no reason to believe Tony was alive and in need of a second visit. 

He stayed in the doorway and watched as the two women cried over his John Doe — his Tony Perry. Clean-cut, loved, and cared for… What the hell was he doing dating a drug dealer? What was more, how did he pull that off without turning into a user like his partner? — Or was it all just a matter of time? Maybe this would be the wakeup call he needed… If he survived. 

Just then, the doctor arrived and Mike led him into the room, introducing him the family who greeted him tearfully — not prepared for more bad news.

( ) ( ) ( )

“You’ve got some nerve, you know that?”

Mike was met with the two officers who were supposed to be overseeing Tony’s case as soon as he stepped out of the elevator. They were both large men, one with short hair and the other shaved bald.

“What? I didn’t see you two busting your asses to get this case solved. I already talked to the family and they provided a positive ID. If you want any information, you’re going to have to get it from me. They don’t want to talk anymore.” That wasn’t exactly true, but Mike didn’t want to see these officers bulldoze over the nice girl and her distraught mother. They’d been through enough and deserved some time alone with Tony after speaking with the doctor.

“So you got a positive ID on him. What about a list of suspects?”

“Better. I have the names of the people he was hanging out with the night he was assaulted. Miguel and Luis Alfaro.”

“Those two pieces of shit?” The bald officer asked, crinkling his nose in disgust. “It’s no wonder he was found in the ditch. Those two have rap sheets longer than anyone else in the system. I thought the tox screen said this boy was clean.”

“He is clean,” Mike said. “Hopefully this will keep him clean or at least knock some sense into him. The mother’s unaware of the relationship, but his sister told me our victim was romantically involved with Luis Alfaro and Miguel didn’t like it.”

“Well, tell you what,” the bald officer said. “We’ll go check out Miguel. Why don’t you go find another body that needs buried and let us do _our_ job.”

Mike wasn’t going to stand for it. He may work homicide, but Tony Perry was still _his case_ as far as he was concerned. No one else cared about the boy or his wellbeing. No one else was going to pursue this case with as much passion as he could. He could already tell these officers would be sloppy. They’d let Miguel know his victim was still alive — they’d leave the door open for the drug dealer to make another attempt at Tony’s life. 

“If you’re going to talk to Alfaro, I’m going with you. This is my case.”

“No, this is not your case. Your business is homicide and he’s still breathing.”

“Which could change at any minute. Until he’s in the clear, this is my case. And unless you want me to get the chief involved, you’ll let me work my case.”

“Fine. If you want to play tagalong, we’ll let you play,” the short haired officer said. “But don’t expect to be the one calling the shots.”

“I’m going to see Miguel and Luis Alfaro, and _I’m_ going to be the one to talk to them. I’m a homicide investigator. It’s my job to get murderers to crack under pressure.”

“And that’s all fine and dandy, but where’s your warrant? They’re not going to talk to you without one and simply being with them the night of the assault isn’t grounds enough to get one.” The bald officer smirked, like he really thought he had Mike cornered into begging them for help.

“Luis was Tony’s lover. I say we talk to him first. If he’s innocent of this crime, he’ll want to help. If he knows something, he’s going to want to appear innocent and I bet you anything he talks without asking for a lawyer and lets something slip.”

“Before you do…we should get the victim’s cell phone records. Find out who he was talking to and see if we can corner the attackers that way. Luis can always say he wasn’t with Tony last night, and if we have texts proving him wrong, we’ll have him cornered,” the short haired officer said. 

“Their provider is Verizon. I already got his number and his mother’s account information,” Mike said, unable to keep from sounding smug. “They’ve already emailed the records to my office. If you want to play tagalong as I go pick them up, you can.”

That part was a fib, but the other officers didn’t need to know that. Mike had a plan and course he wanted to take, and he wasn’t about to let two standard officers interfere. 

“How about this. In an hour and a half, we’ll meet you back at the station,” the bald officer said. “Give us time to get a little breakfast before we get to work. Officer Daniels, here, gets a little aggravated when he hasn’t had his morning coffee.”

“Well we wouldn’t want him to get aggravated would we?” Mike asked, pulling on his sunglasses as he started through the lobby. “I’m at the Eighth Street station. Last office on the left-hand side.”

“We’ll see you there,” the bald officer said, parting ways with him at the door. They went to their cruiser and Mike made his way to his SUV. 

He doubted they were keen on playing along with his game, but they seemed the type to take an hour and a half break for a morning meal. And, hey, maybe they’d already worked a long shift and deserved a meal — who was Mike to judge? All he knew was that he was going to do his best to assemble his arsenal and get to Luis Alfaro’s place before those officers even realized his deception. 

As soon as he was back in the station, Mike locked himself up in his office and started making phone calls. He contacted the phone company to get Tony’s call logs and text messages emailed to him — and was told it would take a minimum of thirty minutes to process his request even when he pretended it was a homicide investigation. After that, he contacted Forensics and asked for copies of the photographs they’d taken of the crime scene and Tony’s bruised and bloodied body in the hospital. If Tony meant anything to Luis at all, those photos would get a reaction out of him. 

And if they didn’t? Well, that said even more.

The photos were enough to make Mike sick to his stomach, and he anticipated it would have the same effect on Luis. The only downside was the lack of photos from the scene. Tony had been taken to the hospital before the forensic team arrived to photograph the ditch, so all he had to present were snapshots of the bloody puddle Tony had been left lying in.

That might tip Luis off to the fact that Tony was still alive, but there was a chance he wasn’t so observant.

It felt like hours had passed before Mike finally got the email from Verizon including Tony’s call logs and text messages from the night he went missing to seven days previous. 

As expected, his most recent calls had come from his mother and sister and Luis. It was the same when looking over his text messages as well. His mother asked where he was, begged him to answer her, told him she was scared and that he needed to come home to her. His sister said much of the same but laced with profanity as she lost her patience with him, believing him to be passed out drunk somewhere with Luis. 

And then there was Luis who had sent Tony a message as recently as eleven o’clock the night before.

_Babe talk to me. I really miss you. I’m sorry if I said something that pissed you off. I was drunk. You know how I get. Just talk to me so I can fix it OK?? I ♥ U_

It wouldn’t be the first time Mike had seen a killer sending apologetic texts to their victim after the fact, trying to establish an alibi, so he continued looking back through the messages, searching for addresses or clues. 

Suddenly things started falling into place, one by one, and Mike had his time frame. 

Tony had plans to meet up with Luis for a party hosted by Miguel at seven the night he’d been attacked. Up until that time, Tony and Luis texted almost constantly — a combination of flirty texts and dirty texts and questions about who all would be at the party. Luis was the perpetrator behind most of the flirtatious and sexualized text messages, (one of which was “what U got on under those Star Wars pajamas?” to which Tony replied “Star Wars boxers ♥♥” — Mike had himself a good laugh at that one) and Tony seemed more interested in the party he was meant to attend. He seemed nervous about going and tried to back out, but at six thirty he’d gotten the address and he and Luis stopped texting until seven-twelve when Tony arrived at the party and couldn’t find Luis. 

Luis told him where to look and that was the end of their messages until a little after one a.m. when Luis asked where Tony was. He didn’t seem concerned about his wellbeing, just angry.

_Where R U! You’d better not be with Carlos!!!_ It went on and on and on like that, a drunk man demanding his boyfriend come back to him. Only Tony couldn’t get back to him, because by that point someone had probably already taken him and started beating him.

Or… Or perhaps Luis did find him and he _did_ find him with Carlos and Luis decided he had to get even. Tony had been found naked, and it wasn’t impossible that he’d been caught in the act of having an affair.

Maybe it was Mike’s own bias, but a clean-cut kid like Tony didn’t seem the cheating type. Especially not at a party he hadn’t even wanted to go to. 

Mike compiled a list of text messages and grabbed the most emotionally gripping photos he could from the collection, then set to researching Luis and Miguel Alfaro. The other officers had warned him about their criminal histories, but Mike was still surprised as he examined the list of each brother’s offenses. 

Miguel, the older of the two, was close to thirty and had been in and out of jail since he was fifteen. He’d been arrested and served time for drug related crimes, robbery, aggravated assault, gross sexual misconduct, and breaking and entering. He’d been charged with attempted homicide over three times, but there never seemed to be enough evidence to lock him away for his crimes. 

As for Luis, most of his charges were misdemeanors — public intox, drunk driving, vandalism, and multiple cases of theft — but he also had more serious charges brought against him, much like his brother. He’d spent the last two years in jail for drug charges and assault. 

Tony couldn’t have been friends with him for too long since his release date was early February and it was now nearing the end of August. Hopefully they weren’t too close in that six month span of time, because if Tony pulled through, Mike did not want to see him putting himself back into that situation.

These men were _bad._ Clearly, inexplicably bad. How could a clean-cut, nerdy teenager like Tony justify hanging around with them? Didn’t he realize it was dangerous?

Luis must’ve been one hell of a sweet talker — that or Tony was just naïve and prone to falling in love with men of the “bad boy” variety. That was a detail his sister might know a thing or two about, but Mike could hardly build his case based on questions surrounding the teen’s sexuality and preference.

Though defense attorneys might bring that sort of issue up when they went to trial… If Tony had a habit of slipping in with the wrong crowd, it was likely the judge or jury would see him as partially to blame for what happened. After all, how many young women had been warned they’d end up dead in a ditch somewhere if they kept seeing their dark-hearted, bad boy lovers? Far too many. Far, far too many.

Mike searched the databases further to get Luis and Miguel’s last known addresses then, after writing them down, he fled the station and got into his SUV. He typed in Luis’ address first, and made sure his copies of the texts and his photos were organized how he wanted them in the manila folder he’d brought with him. Before he pulled out of the parking lot, Mike took out the photo of Tony he’d been keeping in his breast pocket and looked it over one more time.

The boy looked so happy in that photo, from his curled lips to his big, brown eyes. He didn’t deserve what he’d gotten. He didn’t deserve to be pitched out of a car and left in the dirt with the skin of his shoulder and back peeled off. No body deserved that… Except the punks who did it to Tony.

It was a thirty minute drive to Luis Alfaro’s apartment. It wasn’t in the best neighborhood, but the apartment he rented was large in comparison to the buildings nearby. It was a duplex nestled between two, four story complexes, with a large gate all the way around it and signs which read “Beware of Dog” in all capital, bright red letters — though there weren’t any dogs to be seen or heard.

Mike took the time to survey his surroundings before stepping out of the car. A place like this reeked of crime, though this early in the morning most everyone had just gotten home from their nightly atrocities and were falling down into bed. There was a woman pushing a cart up the road on the opposite side, homeless and collecting cans from the gutter. The buildings on that side of the street looked rundown, all broken glass and crumbling brick with litter all over the dried up yards and sidewalks. 

What would attract a boy like Tony to a place like this? Or had he ever been here?

Mike grabbed the folder off his passenger seat, then got out of his SUV and locked doors. He lowered his sunglasses over his eyes even though the sky was just starting to turn a shade of soft orange with smears of pink around the clouds. The sunglasses made him look like a cop, and even if it was dangerous, that was the image he needed to portray — someone serious, someone not to be messed with. In the middle of the night, under cover of darkness, yes some lowlife in this part of town would pull a gun and shoot him dead in the street. But in the daytime, unprovoked? Mike doubted it. It could still happen, but right now the gangsters and drug runners would be tired and blacking out, riding the lowest low their previous highs could ever give them. 

He walked up to the fence gating off Luis’ property and rattled it a moment before pausing to listen. No dogs barked, nothing jingled a chain or gave the smallest sound of acknowledgement. There were no dogs and the gate wasn’t locked. An open padlock was hanging from the gate’s latch, however. 

Luis had stepped out and had taken his dogs with him.

Perfect, Mike thought. He wouldn’t be gone long if he left the latch hanging like that. Maybe Luis was an early riser and was taking his pets for a walk.

Or, maybe he was out with his fighting dogs somewhere putting down the loser and praising his victor with fresh meat.

Who really could say in this part of town?

Mike opened the gate and walked up to the front porch. Each wooden step bowed under his weight, the greying wood threatening to snap under his weight as he climbed up to the filthy porch. There were cigarette butts and beer cans scattered everywhere, along with dog feces and gnawed bones. 

It was a filthy place and it reeked, its appearance as offensive as its smell — all of which worked together to discourage strangers from dropping by unexpected. Mike couldn’t even imagine Tony coming here or _wanting_ to. He knew he’d never really _met_ the boy, but how could anyone decent really want to be with a person who kept their house like _this?_

The property was nearly silent except for a soft beeping that either came from an alarm within the house or one of the neighboring apartments with an open window. Even though he sensed the property was deserted, Mike pounded his fist into the front door. If Luis had gone out and left someone behind, maybe they would hear and come check on the commotion. 

Only there was nothing. Just more silence and the beeping had stopped. 

Mike peered in the windows, unable to see much through the foggy glass besides shadows and silhouettes of furniture. After checking the front door, Mike stepped off the porch and made his way around the side of the house, peering into any window he could reach. He couldn’t see any movement or people inside, and when he tested the back doorknob, it was locked just as the front door had been. 

Both sides of the duplex seemed empty and had their doors locked against him, and Mike made the decision that he would wait thirty minutes by the apartment and if Luis didn’t come, he’d move on to the ringleader Miguel.

Mike thought about it, then decided to take his stance by the gate as opposed to the front door. On the off chance Luis felt like siccing his dogs on Mike instead of talking, Mike wanted to have a place to run — not find himself caged within the yard.

The minutes ticked by so slowly, and most of the time Mike stared at the photo of Tony he kept in his pocket. He bet a boy like him would have social media. Mike bet he could find his profile, maybe see more photos of him than just this one and those ones of him bloodied and bruised. Maybe he could learn something more about him. Maybe he could see more of who Tony was besides a _Star Wars_ fan and a gullible teen. 

Later, Mike thought. Not right now. 

Right now, he needed to keep his wits about him and stay observant in case anything in the air changed. If he suddenly sensed a target on his back, it was best he was focused enough to retreat without letting on that he knew he was being watched. For now, this one photo of Antonio Perry was going to have to do. 

After about fifteen minutes of waiting, Mike began to hear a distinct jingling sound coming toward him from up the street. He turned his head and spotted a man in light grey sweatpants approaching, dressed in only those pants and a white ball cap, with two dogs tugging hard on their leashes before him.

Mike had expected pit bulls. He’d expected something vicious-looking and dangerous—Rottweilers at least, or Dobermans. Instead, Luis was approaching him with one medium-sized, black Chow Chow (with too much fur than could ever be acceptable in San Diego’s heat) and one tiny mongrel no bigger than a Chihuahua. 

When it spotted him, the Chihuahua-esque dog started barking its little tiny brains out, but the Chow Chow kept quiet as they neared.

“Can I help you with something?” The man called out, his speech unmistakably slurred with that stereotypic lisp. Mike couldn’t believe it. There he was, Luis Alfaro, little brother of the feared drug lord Miguel Alfaro — walking down the street with a ball of black fluff and a Chihuahua speaking with a valley-girl twang in his voice.

“Are you Luis Alfaro?” Mike asked, straightening his posture as the man drew closer. He knew exactly who he was, but the formalities stayed the same. 

“I could be. That just depends on who’s asking,” Luis said, finally close enough that Mike could see it when he smiled — a golden-toothed smile. The Chihuahua continued to yap and once they were close, the Chow Chow began growling deep in its throat and bared its yellowing teeth. “Tito! Pookie! Hush up, will ya? Be good boys for Daddy. Be good!” He yanked each dog’s leash in turn until the Chow Chow quit growling. The Chihuahua continued its vicious braying until Luis leaned down and scooped him up and started pressing kisses all over its gross, slobbery face. “Hush, hush, hush, hush,” Luis whispered into the dogs ear as he kissed it. 

It was the most disgusting thing Mike had ever seen, and he took the chance to look away as he removed his sunglasses and put them in his jacket pocket. 

“You never told me who’s askin’. You’re not from the City, are you? I already told them I’d pick up the yard. I’ve been _pickin’_ up the yard. You know how hard it is to keep a clean property when you got all this trash throwin’ more trash in your yard? It’s _hard!”_ He was still smiling like a dumbass, bright green eyes sparkling like they had no business doing when Tony had been bleeding out in a ditch because of him.

“I’m a homicide investigator,” Mike said, flashing his credentials and stealing the grin right off Luis’ face. 

“Homicide? This better not be about that Tracey girl. No way! Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ you guys pin that on me! Yeah, I may have slapped her in the club ‘cause she was talkin’ like a little hoe, piece of shit, but I didn’t _kill_ her. I told the last guys to look at Justin Gonzales. Justin Gonzales had his eyes on that hoe for _I don’t know what reason_ and he put his hands on her. Not _me!”_

Mike let Luis throw his temper tantrum, watched the way his little Chihuahua mongrel got jostled around in his arms, then peeked into his manila folder and pulled out a photo of Tony’s battered face.

“Do you know this man?” He asked, holding the photo up into Luis’ face.

The man let out a horrified noise, a shrill, _awful_ noise, and backed away, both his hands going toward his face in shock despite the little mutt he had pinned to his chest.

“No!” Luis cried.

“No, you don’t know him?” Mike asked, his voice staying calm.

“No! — No! That’s my Antonio! That’s my baby boy! Oh, God! Oh, God — No. No, no!” Luis had started crying, ugly crying, with enough tears and snot and slobber on his face that he started looking like the Chihuahua mix he dropped to the ground in his fit of hysteria. He was crying to himself and screaming in Spanish, getting so worked up that his Chow Chow started growling at Mike and pawing at its master’s shoe. 

“I was told you were close to Tony,” Mike said.

“Haven’t you been listening!? That’s my little baby boy! — Who could have done this to him!? Why would _anybody_ want to hurt my Antonio?”

“That’s what we’d all like to know. Especially his mother. You know, we had to call her in to identify his body after we found him lying out in the sun, in a ditch alongside the highway with half his skin ripped off.”

It was a gory, heavy-handed description, but it did its job. If Luis was guilty, he did a damned good job at acting innocent. As soon as he heard Tony was missing skin, he leaned over and vomited in the dried up grass between the sidewalk and the street. As he retched and gagged, the Chow Chow started barking and fixed its beady eyes on Mike — thinking he must’ve somehow injured its master without even touching him.

“Do you know who might be responsible for this?”

“Carlos! Carlos Medina! He wanted my baby boy.”

“I know you two were at a party the night he disappeared. Why don’t you put the dogs up and we can talk about it? You can help me catch whoever is responsible.”

Luis had straightened up and yanked on his dog’s leashes to quiet them.

“Okay. Okay… Yeah. Okay. Pookie, Tito… Hush, babies. Let’s go inside with Daddy,” Luis said to his dogs as he opened the gate. His hands were shaking and he kept wiping his mouth and nose on his bare arm. Mike followed after him, pleased when Luis didn’t even think about padlocking the gate. He quietly led Mike up to his front door and fussed with his keys before leading the dogs inside. “I’m sorry about the mess. I know it’s filthy… Tony always complained. My little Antonio…” 

Luis unhooked his dogs and the Chihuahua mix disappeared into the kitchen where Mike could hear it lapping at a bowl of water. The Chow Chow stayed nearby and sat at Luis’s feet when the man dropped down onto a stained couch. 

“Why don’t you tell me about the party,” Mike said, sitting down in a cleared spot on the coffee table, deciding the available chair looked a little too high-risk for his good suit pants.

“It was at my brother’s place. I’m sure you know my brother…”

“I know of him,” Mike said, sounding indifferent. 

“He invited all kinds of people. All kinds of stuff goin’ on, you know. Drugs and all that. I was high before Tony even got there. He’s been wanting me to get clean, but it’s _hard._ So he got there and I was hiding from him in the bathroom, not wanting to fight. But he started to get upset and he came to find me and we talked about it, I guess. I got him a drink and he calmed down and we started dancing. He’s always affectionate when he’s drinking, you know? So it was getting…not, not _dirty,_ but…”

“Intense?” Mike suggested.

“Yeah, yeah. Intense… So I asked him upstairs and we went, but my stupid brother came pounding on the door and it scared Tony. He got his clothes back on and I started yelling at him and my brother — I don’t know why. I don’t know why… I was high out of my mind. I don’t know why…” Luis started crying again, and rubbed his hands on his Chow Chow to calm down. 

“Did you two fight?” Mike asked. He had the text messages to prove they had, but wanted to see if Luis would offer it up himself. He seemed sincere in his mourning, not at all like someone who knew their lover had been murdered before being told by the cops.

“Yeah… I told you, I was so high. He was embarrassed about Miguel catching us and he knows Miguel doesn’t… He knows we shouldn’t have been doing that at Miguel’s,” he said, quickly catching himself. Mike picked up on the sudden change, but chose not to comment. He just waited for Luis to go on. “He left the party and I just didn’t get it. I thought he was with Carlos or cheating on me… I didn’t know what happened to him. I know I texted him a lot,” Luis said, suddenly reaching into his pants pocket and taking out his phone. “Oh, baby… See? This is my Antonio. This is my baby boy.” Luis showed the wallpaper of his phone which was Tony kneeling on the sidewalk with his arm around the fluffy, black Chow Chow. “He’s the only one Cujo ever liked.”

So “Pookie” was actually named Cujo. Mike hadn’t seen that one coming. He also didn’t expect Luis Alfaro to have his boyfriend as his cell phone background. That was a risky move for someone in his community. 

When he took the phone back, Luis frowned as he scrolled through his messages — tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“I was so mean to him… He didn’t answer and I thought… You said they took off his _skin?_ Who would do that to my baby?”

“The concrete. When he was thrown out of a moving car,” Mike said. 

Luis covered his eyes with one hand and sobbed. Mike let him have a moment, then continued his questioning. Why did he think Carlos took Tony? Was there anyone else he suspected? What about Miguel? Why didn’t Miguel like Tony?

All of Luis’ hospitality dissipated as soon as his brother was mentioned as a suspect. Miguel may not have liked Tony, but he knew how important he was to Luis and wouldn’t have killed him — especially not in the way Mike had described.

It must be Carlos Medina, he said. Must be! But if it wasn’t, who else would he know? Who brought him to the party?

No one. He’d walked. 

Did have other friends at the party?

No. Just Luis. The others didn’t care for him. Thought he was a snitch.

_Bingo._

Tony went from having one, maybe two enemies — Carlos and Miguel — to having dozens. Any one of the crooks at that party could’ve seen him alone and killed him. 

“I need the names of everyone at that party.”

“I — I can’t even remember half the people who were there!” Luis exclaimed, looking frantic. He knew the names. Now _he_ was afraid of being the snitch, and that fear was easy to read on his face.

“Then tell me the half you do know,” Mike said, keeping his tone cold so Luis would know he was onto his real reason for holding back.

“Look, I cared about Tony, but if I tell you anything, then _I’m_ the snitch too. You get that?”

Mike didn’t speak right away. He kept his face blank and stared at Luis, then reached into the manila folder and pulled out all the photos he’d brought with him — the picture of the bloody puddle in the ditch, the pictures of Tony’s ripped up shoulder and back. He laid them all out on the coffee table and watched Luis grimace in horror.

“Everyone I’ve talked to said Tony really cared about you. And look at where that got him. Are you going to let his attacker go free just to save your own ass from the people you call ‘friends’?” 

“Get that shit out of my face! I told you who did it! I told you it was Carlos!”

“And it might very well be Carlos. But it could be anyone else at that party, too, who got drunk and high and saw an opportunity to kill the snitch and be a hero. So give me the names of everyone you remember.” Mike stared Luis down and took a pen and notepad out of his pocket. He set them both down on the coffee table and continued to glare at Luis until the man gave up every single name he knew.


	4. Chapter 4

“You’ve got some real nerve, you know that!?” 

Mike lowered his sunglasses as soon as he stepped into the station, looking for the source of the all-too-familiar voice. It was the bald officer and his short-haired partner, waiting for him in the lobby. 

“I had a lead I needed to follow,” Mike said, knowing it was pointless to say he’d been working on another case.

“You were supposed to wait for us! And what’s this we’re hearing about you breaking into Officer Woodlow’s _desk_ to get contact information about this case? It’s not _your_ case, Fuentes. You have no business working on it at all.”

“What’s it matter if I do the grunt work for you? I’m not here for recognition. I’m here to solve a case for my victim.”

“He’s still breathing. He’s not _your_ victim. Woodlow’s talking about taking this issue to the Captain after he found out you broke into his desk!”

“I doubt that,” Mike said, thinking of how empathetic the officer had sounded on the phone. He might’ve been upset, but he’d understand. All Mike needed to do was apologize and offer to buy him a beer after a shift sometime. He was sure that was all it would take. “Don’t tell me you two have been waiting here since breakfast just to tell me all that.” It was getting close to lunchtime now and Mike had his suspicions that these officers had been out investigating without his aid — and it was his fear they went and bothered Tony’s family.

“We came here and learned you’d run off to play hero, so we took matters into our own hands. We went back to the hospital and tried to talk to Mrs. Perry but she and her daughter were useless. The daughter said she wouldn’t talk to anyone but you and we have reason to believe you put her up to it.”

That came as a shock to Mike though he kept the emotion office his face. Why would they suddenly show a mistrust for the police when they’d been so compliant before? He wondered then if the Perry family were illegals and if they feared more officers meant a higher risk for INS getting involved. 

“With all due respect, officers, maybe she just didn’t like your attitude. I told you they’re not up for investigations right now and they answered all the pressing questions already. Give them time to be with Tony.”

“And with _all due respect,_ we wouldn’t have had to go back if not for you going back on your word. We were supposed to meet _here._ But that’s fine. We went and got a statement from Miguel Alfaro.”

“And how did that go?” Mike asked.

“Exactly how you’d expect. Says he’s never heard of Antonio Perry. Says he’s never seen him before in his life.”

“That’s all very well, except I spoke to Luis this morning and he says the exact opposite, that Miguel caught them in bed together at the party just before Tony went missing.”

“Oh it was _very_ clear that Alfaro knew our victim. His eye started twitching as soon as we dropped the name. He’s our prime suspect.”

“I like him for it, and I like a man named Carlos Medina as well. Luis says Carlos had something for Tony and might’ve been intoxicated enough at the party to grab him.”

“And I take it you want to be the one to interrogate Medina?” The bald officer asked.

Mike thought about it, but his gut told him Miguel was the culprit — Miguel and some of his friends on the guest list. 

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” Mike said. “I’ve had a long day. If you want Medina, knock yourselves out.”

“That means you don’t think he did it.”

“It means I’m _tired.”_

“It means you want us out of the picture so you can get after Miguel Alfaro yourself.”

“Alfaro knows we’re on to him. He’s not going to talk to me or anybody else without a warrant or a lawyer. This isn’t his first song and dance. If we crowd him now and he is the one responsible, he’s got nothing keeping him from skipping town the minute we turn a blind eye. Medina and anyone else on the guest list is fair game. If you want to talk to some of them, I say go for it.”

Let them do the dirty work, Mike thought. They weren’t bad cops and if they were distracted with other suspects, it just gave Mike the room he needed to think things over on his own. 

Mike gave the officers a copy of the guest list and emailed them the documents and phone records he’d gotten from Verizon in case they could find a clue he’d missed in his initial search. He made it look as if he was going along with whatever they wanted, giving them everything they asked for. 

When they finally left the station, they looked so smug and pleased with themselves. They didn’t suspect in the slightest that Mike might’ve held something back or had a lead he intended to follow on his own…

Before he could do much of anything, though, Officer Woodlow was at his office door with a scowl on his face.

“You couldn’t wait half an hour for me to make it into the station?”

“I needed that file. I didn’t take anything else,” Mike said.

“That’s still breaking and entering.”

“What, are you here to arrest me?” Mike asked, feeling the slightest bit nervous under Woodlow’s hard gaze though he managed to keep it from showing on his face.

“I get that you’re not used to working these kinds of cases, but you can’t bend every rule that gets in your way. Yes, every minute counts, but we have guidelines for a reason.”

“It was one file — I didn’t even take the page out of the notebook. We’re talking about one page of notes, not Watergate, for Christ’s sake.”

“I don’t _care_ that you got my file. I don’t care that you jimmied the lock to get it! But I don’t want to see you treat your case that way and let that boy’s attacker walk on a technicality. I don’t know what you’re up against and frankly I don’t want to, but when this case goes to trial, your actions will be scrutinized just as much as theirs. And if those officers you keep jerking around decide they don’t like you, they could jeopardize the entire case by writing you off as overzealous to the defense. If you’re willing to break into another officer’s desk to get intel, what’s to stop you from planting evidence? _That’s_ what they’ll say.”

It made sense and Mike knew he was right. Those officers were anything but fond of him and if they had a chance to throw him under the bus, they would. 

“You’re right,” Mike admitted. “I know I’m getting carried away, and yes I’ll admit I’m not used to these kinds of cases. But I couldn’t just sit around waiting when I _knew_ that was my John Doe. Tony could _still_ die from his injuries. His mother deserved to see him while he was still breathing.”

“I know how that feels, Fuentes. Believe me. If anyone on the force knows how you feel, it’s my department. Like I said, I don’t care that you went in my desk, but other people do. Don’t let your victim’s attacker go free because you can’t show a little patience. Alright?”

“Yes. I understand,” Mike said. 

“So how is your victim?”

“Still unconscious, but his mother and his sister are with him now. With their support, I’m hoping he’ll pull through. He seems like a good kid… It’d be a real shame if he didn’t make it.”

“It’d be good for the case to have his testimony. That’s what you need to tell people, Fuentes. They’re going to pick up on the fact that you have a personal involvement in this case and the higher ups are going to bar you from working on it. If you get too close, you become a liability. I know you want to help this boy, but you have to remember he’s just another case.”

“Another sheet of paper to get lost in someone’s desk? I don’t think so,” Mike said, looking back at his computer screen — at the photos and text messages he’d threaded together. Tony was _never_ going to be just some case to him. Tony was a living, breathing person too naïve for his own good. Someone needed to watch out for him, someone who was onto his shit and could keep him in line before he ended up _dead_ in a ditch somewhere. 

“He’s just a case, Fuentes,” Woodlow said one final time before leaving Mike’s doorway.

He _wasn’t_ just another case. Tony was a living person, a living teenager who had been beaten and thrown out of a vehicle, then left to die in the sand and heat. 

Where did that team of paramedics get off announcing him dead at the scene when he was still clearly alive? He’d been bleeding, his body was lithe… 

Mike still wanted those morons fired, but he’d never even gotten their names. 

Let that be his contribution to the case, Mike thought as he picked up his desk phone and started dialing the number for the dispatch office. Maybe he couldn’t put Miguel Alfaro or whoever else might’ve hurt Tony behind bars today, but he could at least hold _someone_ accountable for the condition he was in. 

“Hello, this is Detective Mike Fuentes of the San Diego PD, Homicide. I need the names of two EMTs who arrived on scene yesterday morning.” Mike fed the worker all the information he had about the location and timeline.

Finally, after about ten minutes of waiting on the line listening to nothing other than keyboard strokes, he got his names.

Helen Pricing and Matthew Stoddard. 

Once that was taken care of, Mike let the woman on the other line know that he would like to make a report about those two individuals and the way the scene was handled prior to his arrival. Yet again he was made to wait, this time as he was transferred to another representative someplace deeper within the dispatch office. 

“Detective Fuentes?” It was a male voice this time. 

“Yes.”

The man asked for his credentials, then requested a detailed report of what happened. Mike told every detail he could about how the body had looked to him, how he’d known it wasn’t right from the moment he’d arrived on scene. He discussed how the body was still visibly bleeding, a detail a trained EMT would not have overlooked, then expressed his dislike for how indifferently the male EMT, Matthew, had treated the victim even after he’d been confirmed alive — not deceased. 

“So our EMT lowered the patient’s hand—”

“He didn’t _lower_ it, he _dropped_ it. He just let it fall down into the sand.” Mike glared at his desk as he spoke to the worked, knowing that this man wasn’t taking him seriously. Maybe he cared about a living person being pronounced dead at the scene, but he didn’t give one shit about how the victim’s body had been treated after the fact so long as he wasn’t molested by the EMT or grievously injured.

“Our technicians are trained to administer prompt, emergency care. He may have gotten distracted by your victim’s injuries when he lowered his hand—”

“He didn’t _lower_ it! He dropped it like a piece of trash! It was disrespectful, unprofessional, and could’ve caused further injury! If that’s how he treats patients in front of an officer, imagine what he does to them when he’s alone!”

Mike glared down at his desk, angrily shifting his documents around and looking them over as he attempted to calm himself down. Screaming at the worker wasn’t going to get him anywhere, but he wished the man could just _pretend_ to care instead of prattling off reason Mike might’ve “misunderstood” the situation.

He shuffled his papers some more as he waited for the man to finish speaking, stared at his photo Tony for a bit, then read over the guest list again. 

_Nina Perez_  
Tommy Snyder  
Ben Migden  
Anna Zambrano   
Pablo Rodriguez   
Nikki Cruz  
Pamela Nunez 

“I don’t care what you think his reasoning was. I’m telling you what I saw. I saw a _negligent_ EMT let a teenage boy lie outside in sun, in the _desert,_ bleeding to death.”

“And that matter will be investigated.”

“He doesn’t need more training — he needs _fired._ That boy could still _die!_ He needed a hospital!”

The worker started listing off more technicalities, more descriptions of their “investigation” procedures. Mike didn’t listen. He read over his list, trying to keep his temper from boiling over.

_Carlos Medina_  
Enriquez Vasquez   
Tonio Vasquez  
Marco Estrada  
Tori Bartuccio  
Rosa Cueva  
Matt Stoddard 

Wait…

“Hang on a minute,” Mike said, sitting up straight in his chair and shoving aside the pages on his desk until he found his notebook. 

The names of the two EMTs who’d arrived at the scene were Hellen Pricing and Matthew Stoddard. 

_Matt Stoddard_ was on the list of guests at that party, and though there was a chance it was all coincidence — that this EMT was unfortunate enough to share a name with someone on the list of suspects — but it all added up too well. His indifference, his premature diagnosis… If that EMT was at the party and he’d been involved in the attempted murder, he’d _want_ his victim to die. He’d _want_ to keep Tony from getting to the hospital.

“The EMT’s name is Matthew Stoddard, correct?” Mike asked.

“Yes. Matt Stoddard and Hellen Pricing.”

“How long have they worked for you?” Mike asked, cradling his phone against his shoulder as he started typing Stoddard’s name into his database. Something had to come up… Something, anything. 

“Helen joined about eight months ago and Matt’s file shows him being hired in March of last year.”

“Were you aware of his history with law enforcement?” Mike asked, skimming the list of infractions that popped up along with a picture of the blonde EMT.

“Detective, we do appreciate your concern, but it is up to Human Resources to decide what offenses disqualify a candidate from employment. He doesn’t have a single blemish on his work history with us.”

“As far as I’m concerned, he’s now a part of this investigation. Do what you have to do.” Without giving any more information than that, Mike ended the call and started clicking through Matthew Stoddard’s record. 

Mostly traffic violations — parking and speeding tickets. He guessed Emergency Services would want their drivers to be used to going fast, so maybe that wouldn’t disqualify him, but the assault charges brought against him might have if they were ever made public. 

He’d been charged twice with assault but had never gone to court. Once when he was sixteen, and then again at age eighteen. He was now pushing thirty and seemed to have outgrown his need for speed and thirst for blood — or he’d just gotten better at disguising it.

People didn’t change for the better. Mike knew that more than anyone. If people changed, they became worse.

Matt Stoddard was no angel. Mike knew it from the moment he’d laid eyes on him, from the moment he’d realized Tony was still breathing and the EMTs had left him there to die. The girl may have been ignorant to the whole scheme, but Stoddard was not. 

Stoddard was in on it. Now Mike just needed the proof.

First, he needed to confirm that this Stoddard and the one on the guest list were the same person, but he wasn’t sure how he wanted to go about it. Did he confront the man himself? Did he present the guest list and let Stoddard know he was onto him, or did he go to Luis with Stoddard’s ID photo and ask if he knew who he was?

The more he thought about it, the more Luis sounded like the best option. If Luis was involved in the attempted murder somehow — or if his brother really was behind it and Luis got the bright idea to cover him — he’d _want_ the attention on Stoddard. He’d want it on anyone other than himself and his family. And if he tried to lie, Mike didn’t think Luis smart enough to keep all his secrets to himself when under interrogation. 

Mike jotted down more notes in his book, then printed a copy of Stoddard’s photo and record before locking his computer and gathering his new information into Tony’s file. Once everything was squared away, Mike took the folder and photos with him as he left his desk and started for the door. 

“Where are you off to now?” Woodlow asked, calling to Mike as he hurried past his desk.

“Got another lead,” Mike said.

“Remember what I told you, Fuentes.”

“Different case,” Mike lied, knowing it was a wasted effort. Woodlow was too much like himself. He could see right through him.

He’d been on his way to question Luis Alfaro about the EMT Matt Stoddard when another call came through and took him off course. It was about the ten-year-old girl who had been found on her parents’ property, a lead Mike wasn’t prepared for.

The mother’s alibi wasn’t checking out and the forensics team had found traces of her DNA under her little child’s fingernails. 

They now had their prime suspect and the thought alone made Mike sick to his stomach. He would be the one to conduct the interrogation. He’d be the one to ask why and hear the disgusting answer. He’d heard it all before, but it never got any easier. 

He spent his entire drive over to the other station rubbing his lips in want of a drink. Tonight, he promised himself. He’d earned a stiff drink. Maybe he’d invite Woodlow out as well. Maybe they’d drink together and share their darkest stories. He’d talk about this girl and the little boy he’d found molested and strangled to death on the beach; Woodlow would talk about the cases he’d solved or the ones still open. Then they’d talk about Tony.

After he’d parked outside the station, Mike took Tony’s photo out of his jacket pocket and looked it over. That image of the teenager smiling was becoming a totem for Mike, a symbol of hope. For all the victims Mike couldn’t help — like the ten-year-old girl who had been killed by her own mother — Tony was his one survivor. That meant something… It _had_ to.

“We’ll get this over with and then I’ll come back to you, alright?” Mike said, still staring at the photograph as if he expected Tony to answer back.

( ) ( ) ( )

One tearful confession.

Two suspects in custody.

Six missed calls.

Four voicemails. 

Eighteen text messages.

All in the span of five hours.

The mother and her previously unmentioned boyfriend conspired to kill her daughter, believing that eradicating the little girl from existence would allow the mother to escape from her “unhappy” marriage. The father was heartbroken when Mike delivered the news to him and kept asking where he was supposed to go — who was he supposed to turn to now that he’d lost his entire family? It was almost more heartbreak than Mike could handle, and he’d had to lock himself in a bathroom stall to regain his composure, not sure if he needed to be isolated or if he needed to throw up. 

While inside, he checked his phone, shocked to see number of notifications on his screen. One of his missed calls was from Vic, but the others were all unknown numbers which left him voicemail messages. 

_“Detective Fuentes, this is Dr. Simon Worthing at the Alvarado Medical Center. I’m calling to let you know that our patient Antonio Perry awoke this afternoon and is responding to treatment. He isn’t lucid enough to offer much information about his attack, but you’re welcome to visit him at the hospital when you have the chance. Thank you.”_

_“Hello, Detective. This is Anna — Tony’s sister. The doctor said he would call you but we haven’t heard back… Tony woke up today and he’s not feeling very well… Mom’s worried and I know if you come it will calm her down to see you. Please stop by if you can. Thank you, Detective. Goodbye.”_

Mike ignored the other two voicemails and the eighteen texts on his phone in favor of fleeing the bathroom stall and leaving the station. If Tony was awake, even if he’d yet to make a statement, Mike wanted to be there. There was more of a chance now that he would find the strength to pull through if he’d opened his eyes and had seen his family there supporting him. 

Mike also wanted to get to that hospital room before the other officers caught wind that Tony was awake. It may be their case in the books, but it would always be _Mike’s._ They couldn’t even begin to care as much about the boy’s welfare as Mike did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for following this story! I didn't think at all when I posted it that it would be so well received and I'm so grateful for ever view and comment this story is given! <3


	5. Chapter 5

Mike felt his heart racing as he rode the elevator up to the hospital’s fourth floor. According to the text he’d gotten from Anna, Tony was still awake and still not verbally responding to anyone. The doctor had informed her that his silence may be due to any number of things from shock or pain to acute brain damage caused by the assault or being left in the heat. They’d conducted several MRIs and tests after he’d been taken into the hospital, but they were mostly to check for bleeding or severe trauma. More tests would have to be run now that he was awake to pinpoint the cause if he didn’t start speaking on his own soon. 

Mike prayed it wasn’t brain damage. Mutism wasn’t the worst that could have happened to him though, and Mike was thankful for that. At least he wasn’t brain dead or paralyzed. At least he’d be able to _function_ if he made it out of the hospital. 

“Anna? Señora Perry?” Mike said as he hurried into the hospital room. The mother and daughter were both seated on either side of the hospital bed, and both looked up at him as he entered. Between them lay Tony, those big brown eyes half-closed as he stared up at the ceiling above him—his expression blank.

“Detective! Hi,” Anna said, smiling at him before waving him over. As soon as he came closer, she wrapped her hand around her brother’s again and gave it a squeeze. “Tony, this is Detective Fuentes. He’s the man who saved you.”

Mike expected Tony to continue staring at the ceiling, his vacant expression reminding Mike painfully of the way he’d found the teenage lying in the dirt. However, once his attention was commanded, Tony’s eyes flicked toward Mike and he tilted his chin the slightest bit to regard him better. His face was still so badly bruised, and the white bandages wound over his head contrasted so much with his tan skin and black hair. 

_“Say hello to the officer at least!”_ Mrs. Perry exclaimed, pawing at her son’s shoulder when he maintained his silence. _“He saved your life! Say hello to him!”_

_“Está bien,”_ Mike said, waving his hand at her a bit dismissively. She didn’t need to be slapping at her son or trying to keep his manners intact. There was life and light in the teenager’s eyes and that was all Mike could have hoped for. 

He didn’t look like an empty vessel out of touch with the world around him. Tony looked sleepy and pained, and though it was naïve of him to think he had any knowledge of the medical world, Mike felt positive that there was no permanent damage keeping the boy silent. 

“Has the doctor said anything about his condition?” Mike asked, watching as Tony settled back down on the bed—his eyes focused on the ceiling yet again.

“Not much. He checked on him and tested his vitals when he woke up, but they haven’t run any new tests or anything,” Anna said, rubbing her brother’s arm as she spoke. “Have you had any leads in the case?”

As soon as she mentioned the case, Tony’s eyes got wide as if it shocked him anyone would be investigating. Was this the first he’d heard of it?

“I’ve talked to a few people,” Mike said, watching Tony closely. “I spoke to some of the people at the party that night. A Matt Stoddard—” No reaction. “—and Luis Alfaro.” At the mention of Luis, however, Tony’s eyes got even bigger and he choked, starting to cough. His mother and sister both cooed over him, his mother standing from her chair in order to caress her son’s head and kiss his temple in an attempt to soothe him. 

Tony didn’t know Matt, but he wasn’t making it a secret that he knew Luis. 

“I know now isn’t the best time, given the circumstance, but could I have a moment alone with Tony? To ask him some questions,” Mike said. Anna looked at him sadly, then glanced at Tony—clearly not liking the idea of leaving his side—then translated the question for her mother who quickly protested. _“For a moment. Just a question or two,”_ Mike stated. 

_“How can he answer questions? He cannot speak!”_ Mrs. Perry objected. 

_“I’d like to try,”_ Mike said, looking at Tony who was breathing a little uneasily. Clearly he didn’t like the idea either.

It took a little more persuading, but eventually Mike got both the mother and sister out of the hospital room, leaving him alone with Tony. The boy looked at Mike fearfully as he drew closer, his breaths shaky as if he thought Mike was about to harm him. 

“I’m Detective Mike Fuentes from the San Diego PD. I work homicide,” Mike said, showing his badge.

Tony’s bottom lip started twitching then, as if he were about to burst into tears. That was one reaction Mike didn’t anticipate—anger maybe, gratefulness or joy perhaps, but not sadness. He didn’t understand why the boy was about to start crying on him, but chose not to offer any more information. Perhaps the boy would give something up on his own. Perhaps he knew something which left him feeling so fearful and guilty. 

“Do you know why I’m here?” Mike asked.

“I-I… I d-didn’t kill an-anybody,” the boy choked, his voice rough and strained. It hurt him to talk. That’s why he stayed quiet. Now he was scared he was being investigated for homicide and Mike almost wanted to play it up, see if he could find a body in connection with whoever it was Luis Alfaro had started blathering on about when he’d learned Mike was from Homicide, but he chose against it. Tony was in enough pain and with the amount of drugs in his system his statement would be unreliable—if not considered given under duress. 

“I know that, Tony. I was called to investigate _your_ homicide. Thank God, too. Because I’m the only person at the scene who realized you weren’t dead.”

Tony looked away from him, his eyes starting to look wet as if he were about to cry. 

“What happened to me?” He asked.

“Well, that’s what we’re trying to figure out. Can you tell me about the party you went to that night?”

Tony stared up at the ceiling, his lips pressing together into a thin, defiant line. 

“So far I haven’t told your mother about your relationship with Luis Alfaro if that’s what you’re worried about. I know you were at the party with him. I know you fought.”

Still, Tony stayed quiet though he started blinking rapidly. It hadn’t been Mike’s intention to upset him, and in many ways it was causing him pain to see the boy start to cry from his questioning, especially since he was trying to be gentle about the subject. 

“I’m not here to out you to your mother, okay?” Mike said, keeping his voice as gentle as he could in hopes it might somehow calm Tony down. “I just want to find out who hurt you.”

“It wasn’t Louie. He’d never.”

“Alright. Then tell me who.” Mike didn’t know if Tony’s silence was from the medication or the pain he was in, or if he just didn’t have any ideas of his own — or didn’t feel safe enough to share them. “I need your help, Tony. I know you want to protect Luis, but someone tried pretty hard to take you away from him. Do you remember any of that?”

Tony flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he could. He acted as if Mike had slapped him.

“They beat you within an inch of your life and threw you out of a moving vehicle. Help me _catch_ these people, Tony. I don’t care where you met them or what you did at that party or before it. I’m not going to prosecute you or Luis or anyone else for drugs or partying. I just want to know who left you in that ditch.”

“I don’t _know,”_ Tony said through gritted teeth. His defiant tone sparked a bit of rage in Mike who had spent the last few days riddled with images of Tony’s mutilated body lying in the dirt. He wanted to hold someone accountable for that crime. He wanted to make someone _suffer_ for it, yet Tony was willingly holding information back. 

Why was he trying to protect Miguel? Or Carlos? Or that dirt bag EMT Matt Stoddard? 

“You _do_ know. I need you to tell me. They don’t deserve to have you protecting them and if they’re not arrested, there’s nothing to stop them from trying it again.”

“I don’t know anything,” Tony mumbled, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t even pretending as if the words weren’t lies. 

“Well let me tell you what _I_ know,” Mike snapped, his patience wearing thin. “I know that two nights ago you went to a party hosted by a known felon, Miguel Alfaro. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” Tony mumbled. 

“And at that party you met up with your boyfriend Luis Alfaro. You had some drinks with him and he took you to bed.”

At the mention of it, Tony’s cheeks started turning dark red and he fidgeted on the hospital bed, cringing when he moved his leg. 

“Then Miguel caught you two together. Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah…”

“Now Luis told me you two went separate ways after that, and your phone records show he was sending you all kinds of angry messages. Did you receive any of those messages?” Mike asked, watching Tony’s face.

“Angry…messages?” Tony asked, looking hurt. He lowered his gaze from the ceiling and looked beside him at the stand beside his hospital bed, as if he expected his phone to be there. 

“He accused you of cheating on him and leaving the party with Carlos Medina.” 

Immediately, Tony’s face turned red again and he let out an awful sob, bringing his hands to his face and covering his eyes. Mike had expected the words to get a rise out of him, but he hadn’t expected _this._ As soon as Tony started crying, Mike felt nothing but guilt for pushing him so hard. He’d just woken up, he was medicated and woozy and in pain. Now he was upset and crying — two things which would not aid in his recovery at all.

“Tony? It’s — It’s going to be alright… Were you with Carlos Medina?”

“No!” Tony cried. _“Never!”_ He was still sobbing as he wiped at his cheeks and sank further down into his hospital bed. He looked so small that way, making Mike feel worse and worse by the second. He was only eighteen. He was scared and in pain and had suffered a great tragedy… 

Mike didn’t know why exactly Tony was crying — whether he was upset his boyfriend thought he’d been cheating or if it was something else altogether — but he was sorry for it. He had other leads to pursue; there was no need to push him so hard now.

“It’s okay, Tony. If it’s worth anything, I spoke to Luis and he’s very upset that this happened to you. I can tell he cares a lot about you.” Mike hated the words coming out of his mouth almost as much as he hated Luis Alfaro himself. He didn’t want the relationship to continue — which was part of why he led Luis to believe Tony had died — but he couldn’t take seeing the boy cry.

It didn’t work though. Tony kept crying and Mike ended up having to leave the room. He apologized to Mrs. Perry and her daughter for how upset he’d left Tony, then hurried out of the hospital. The whole ride down the elevator he rubbed at his mouth, thinking about the drink he’d earned himself after he was finished with his work. 

First, he was going to confront Matt Stoddard, then he was going to get drunk — and invite Woodlow to come with him. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Tracking down the EMT was harder than Mike had anticipated. He dodged a few phone calls and demands to return to the station (directed at him from the officers on Tony’s case), and attempted to find Stoddard at his last known address only to discover a young woman living there who genuinely had no knowledge of the previous tenant except his unforwarded mail. Mike’s next step was to contact the dispatch office from whom he learned Stoddard had moved to a new apartment, but was currently en route to Promise Hospital on a traffic accident case. 

It was a bit of a drive, especially given the traffic at that hour, but Mike was willing to risk it. He asked dispatch to keep Stoddard there at Promise Hospital if they could, implying he had questions about a former scene he’d been called to, and the dispatcher said he would ask Stoddard to stay if another emergency didn’t present itself in the area. 

Mike was counting on Stoddard staying put, running over his tactics and the questions he wanted to ask as he sped to the hospital. Even if Tony wasn’t yet willing to help with the investigation, Mike didn’t want to give up on him. If he kept up his silence when the regular officers came to ask as well, there was a high probability they might rule it an unsolved case and let it go — allowing the attackers to go free without any further investigation. Tony was eighteen after all, and if he didn’t want to cooperate, the officers weren’t obligated to pursue the case — especially if they couldn’t come across any more evidence.

Mike didn’t want to let that happen. There was a chance Tony would come around and be more cooperative once he was feeling better and the shock of waking up in the hospital wore off. If he didn’t, Mike would be sure to warn him that his attackers would likely try again once they learned he was alive.

When Mike arrived at Promise Hospital it took him a moment to collect his bearings. He parked close to the front and made his way to the emergency department, asking the receptionist there if she could direct him the ambulance port or anywhere he might find the EMT Matt Stoddard. All it took was one phone call from her and the blonde man whose image Mike so greatly loathed was sauntering into the ER lobby.

“You needed something, sweetheart?” Stoddard asked the receptionist, not noticing Mike — and apparently not noticing the dark scowl that crossed the receptionist’s face after he uttered the demeaning pet name. 

“There’s an officer here to see you,” the receptionist said, her voice an irritable rasp. 

Stoddard twisted his head around until his eyes landed on Mike. They widened just a little bit and his left cheek twitched just slightly. The ripple of shock lasted a fraction of a second before Stoddard’s face returned to practiced placidity, but it was enough to let Mike know that his presence wasn’t welcomed by the EMT. 

“What can I do for you, Detective?” Stoddard asked. 

“How do you know Antonio Perry?” Mike asked, paying more attention to Stoddard’s body language than the lies that came pouring out of his mouth.

Stoddard was a cruel son of a bitch who had been in on the attempted murder, Mike knew that for a fact, but he was arrogant and that would be his downfall — Mike was counting on it.

“I _don’t_ know Antonio Perry.”

“No?”

“No. I don’t know that name. What’s this about?”

“Antonio Perry — he’s the boy we scraped off the side of the highway.”

Recognition flashed in Stoddard’s eyes then, as if he really _didn’t_ know the name until Mike had put it in context.

“Are you still busting my balls for that!? You reported me to dispatch, you asshole. My job isn’t to pamper the victims, alright? My job is to load them up.”

“Your job is to keep people from dying. I reported you and I reported your partner _both_ for failing to provide adequate care at the scene. You left him there to die. And, taking that into consideration, it doesn’t seem a coincidence to me that your name popped up on the guest list for the party Tony was attending the night he disappeared.”

Mike knew if he pushed too hard, Stoddard was going to walk away from him — start spouting off his rights and demand an attorney be present if Mike ever wanted to talk to him again (even though he wasn’t yet under arrest). He still needed to push a little bit though. He needed something he could go on, and Mike was positive if he applied pressure in just the right areas, Stoddard would crack and start blabbing.

“I’m on call practically twenty-four seven. How do you expect me to get out and _party?”_

“Luis Alfaro mentioned you _by name_ as being at the party.”

He twitched when Mike mentioned Alfaro’s little brother. 

“Now I know for a fact that Tony Perry was taken from that party, beaten, and dumped. And I also know you arrived on the scene and pronounced him dead even though he was clearly still alive. So with that in mind, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either you willingly come down to the station and give me your statement on what happened at that party, or I go and I get a warrant for you arrest and make you come to the station.” Stoddard tried to speak, but Mike was quick to cut him off. “Sure, sure. You’re a smart guy. You’ll demand a lawyer, but a lousy public defender isn’t going to do anything but make you look more suspicious. I’m going to tell you for free what _he’s_ told to tell you for free: Tell me your involvement and take a plea deal or risk being tried from gross negligence and as an accessory to attempted murder.”

Mike watched the way Stoddard festered, how his eyes burned with hatred though the rest of his body language fought to appear collected and calm. 

Guilty. That look was called _guilty._

“So, how’s it gonna be?” Mike asked.

“I told you, I have nothing to do with that kid. I don’t even know him!”

“So I’m getting a warrant?”

“Maybe you’d better do that,” Stoddard said, starting to get an arrogant gleam in his eyes.

“Alright. But the warrant will be for your arrest on gross negligence charges for your mishandling of the scene. It will go on your record. Just a little something for you to look forward to when you skip town and try to get another job.” 

Mike pulled his sunglasses from the collar of his shirt and replaced them, movie-star style, in an attempt to show just how nonchalant he was about the entire situation. His indifference worked like a charm. It unnerved Stoddard enough to get him to crack. 

He hadn’t even started for the doors yet and the asshole voiced his change of heart.

“Alright. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about that party. But I’m _telling you,_ I thought he was dead when I got the scene and I didn’t _recognize him.”_

“We’ll see about that,” Mike muttered. “Follow me please.”

( ) ( ) ( )

Matt Stoddard held fast to his plea of innocence, but he had far too much information about the crime to have simply been a witness. It took about fifty minutes, but Mike was able to get him to admit that he knew Tony — well, knew _of_ Tony — and had seen him with Luis at the party.

Stoddard wasn’t an A list guest at the party and, as it turned out, none of the people on the list besides Miguel Alfaro himself where considered by Stoddard to be the “A Listers.” Luis, it seemed, had censored the list to protect his brother’s most trusted cohorts. That was alright — that was expected — but in an attempt to protect himself from the law, Stoddard turned himself into the perfect little snitch.

Four big drug dealers had been present at the party along with several notorious gang members. He knew Miguel Alfaro was in with a rough crowd, but he hadn’t expected the simple party to be so dangerous for outsiders. With so many vicious felons in one place, there was a large group of people who could have easily overpowered Tony and beat him at Miguel’s urging. 

That wasn’t how Stoddard saw it though. 

Mike had to give his word not to mention Stoddard as his informant to Alfaro and his clan before he got the rest of the story — what Stoddard _believed_ could have happened to Tony. 

“Look, we all knew Miguel didn’t like Luis’ little…habit. He always said he hated having a fairy for a brother, but Luis is so damned crazy it’d be against Miguel’s interests to, you know, _off_ him.”

“Explain,” Mike said. 

“Luis can fight. Luis may be a poof, but he’s psychotic. He’s the guy who’ll bring a knife to a fistfight, or a gun to a knife fight. Shit, he’s the kind of guy to blow up a church full of nuns for no goddamned reason if the mood hits him. Yeah, Miguel hates having a brother who’s a queer, but Luis is dedicated to him and he helps with the business, you know?”

“So instead of getting rid of his embarrassment of a brother, he just kills off his brother’s boyfriends,” Mike suggested.

“I can’t say anything about the people Luis has seen before. I don’t know anything about them. I’m not an A Lister. Fuck, I’m not even a D Lister. I was just there to get high and meet some women. I didn’t know somebody was going to get killed that night.”

Mike didn’t buy it, but he let the lies go for the moment. There was a reason Stoddard had left Tony to die that morning. He recognized him as Miguel’s victim. He recognized him and wanted to see to it that the job was finished — either due to his own involvement or to move himself up the list.

“Did you see Tony at the party?”

Stoddard had let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in his seat. 

“I saw some kid get his ass handed to him, then this big guy, one of the gang-looking guys, dragged him outside. I swear I didn’t see anything after that. I didn’t even know who it was that got beat up. Honestly, I didn’t want involved in it. I knew if he was getting beat up, he brought it on himself. I thought he stole from Miguel or something. I didn’t know it was Luis’ flavor of the month.”

“You’d never seen Tony before this incident to recognize him at the party?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him, but it was crowded. He was already bloody by the time I noticed the fight.”

“See, the one thing here that isn’t adding up is you being an innocent bystander. Maybe you don’t know Tony, maybe you barely know Miguel and Luis, but the next morning when you reported to that scene, you knew Tony was the man from the party and you left him to die.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Then why did you leave him there?”

“I thought he was dead! You saw him. The guy was a mess!”

“You knew he was from the party.”

“No.”

“Yes, you did. You remembered some kid getting beaten up, you remembered him being taken outside, you remembered that people were filming it. But you’re telling me you didn’t know his face? That you didn’t know it was Luis Alfaro’s lover?”

“No! I was there to pick up girls. I wasn’t paying attention to some faggot getting his ass kicked.”

“Some faggot, huh? Maybe Miguel wasn’t the only homophobe at the party,” Mike said, watching Stoddard’s eye twitch. “Did you think Tony had it coming?”

“I told you, I don’t _know him.”_

“Obviously you don’t know him. God forbid you _know_ the queer! For Christ’s sake, people might think you were _associated with him_ if you knew what he looked like. But I didn’t _ask_ if you knew him. I asked if you thought Luis Alfaro’s lover Antonio Perry had it coming when you watched some gang bangers bash his head in?”

“I didn’t know Tony—”

“Yes, you did!”

“No! I saw him around; I saw him with Luis — everyone saw them together. They weren’t trying to hide it!”

“So you _did_ see him. You did recognize him that morning when you found him in the ditch. _Admit it.”_

“Fine! I knew it was Tony! I knew it was Luis’ boyfriend and I put two and two together, alright!?”

“So instead of doing the right thing and getting him in your truck, you put a white sheet over him and told everybody he was dead.”

“He was as good as dead anyway! He was missing half his skin! He’d been out there all night. It would’ve been cruel to revive him!”

“Except he’s still _alive._ It was your job to get him to the hospital and you did your best to make sure he never got there. Why? And don’t feed me more bullshit about it being cruel. I know the type of man you are. If you thought it would hurt him more to move his body and transport him to the hospital, you would’ve done it on purpose. So walk me through this. You see some fag getting beaten half to death, then you find him lying in a ditch the next morning. What goes through your head?”

Instead of answering, Stoddard glared Mike coldly in his eyes. He wasn’t even under arrest, but he seemed to realize he’d talked himself into a very tight corner.

Now he’d either hang himself or demand a lawyer. He had to know by now that as soon as he stood up to leave, Mike was going to arrest him for gross negligence, a crime he’d undoubtedly committed no matter what his personal involvement in the incident may have been. Knowing the victim, however, just made Mike’s case against him even stronger.

“Why did you leave him in the ditch once you arrived on scene?—Why did you tell the officers he was dead?”

“He was gonna be dead soon anyway. Once Miguel has you on his list, there’s only one way off it. I was doing the guy a favor.”

“I bet it would look pretty good for you, too, wouldn’t it? Calling Miguel up and telling him not to worry, Tony was still breathing at the crime scene but you saw to it he didn’t make it to the hospital?”

“It couldn’t hurt,” Stoddard said, the look in his eyes one of pure evil. “You can charge me with whatever you want, but I didn’t put a finger on that kid. Did I know Miguel was going to kill him? Probably. It’s the same as seeing a crack whore out begging for money on the street. Do you know they’re gonna get grabbed and murdered someday? Yeah. Does it make you a criminal for doing nothing to save her? No. Because people make _choices,_ Detective. And that kid _chose_ to start shaking up with Luis and making a fool out of Miguel. He got what he had coming and I wasn’t about to get in Miguel’s way.”

“Your life or his, right?” Mike asked, torn between losing his temper and grinning like a mad man when Stoddard finally let his true colors shine.

“Better a faggot than me.”

And just like that, Stoddard’s gross negligence charge worked its way up to a hate crime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the happiest with Tony's first appearance in this story, but I promise he's a stronger character than he seems right now. I think we'd all be a little emotional waking up in a hospital, overwrought with pain, and pumped full of medication. Right?? @_@ Thanks again for reading! I appreciate it so, so much! <3


	6. Chapter 6

After making his arrest of Matt Stoddard, Mike caught some fresh shit from the officers assigned to Tony’s case. The reported him to their higher-ups who, thankfully tied up in business of their own, made light of the situation. They pointed out that Mike had work of his own that he needed to focus on, but stated in their email that if “Detective Fuentes feels he has a moral obligation to remain committed to the case, though unnecessary, he may proceed as he sees fit using any resources available to him, up to and including Officers Daniels and Ramsey.” That made Mike smile a bit. He’d honestly expected to be reminded that the case wasn’t his to meddle in, but the higher-ups had to have taken into account that he’d made an arrest already while the other two officers did nothing but make assumptions about their victim and his personal life. Being permitted to remain on the case came as a great relief, even if he knew it made enemies of his fellow “brothers” in blue. At least he didn’t have to worry about keeping his efforts a secret, hoping the other two officers wouldn’t catch wind of his movements. 

Shortly after receiving the news, Mike finished off his workday and ventured out to his usual tavern. He invited Woodlow to join him, but the officer declined. That was fine. Mike didn’t really need the company — or to have Woodlow reminding him that it was dangerous to get too close to a case. He already knew he’d gotten himself in too deep so far as Tony was concerned. 

As he took up his usual place at the bar, Mike immediately felt relief start trickling down his spine. Even before his usual bartender set his glass of bourbon on the rocks before him on the greasy wood of the bar, Mike felt so much better. 

“You look tired,” his bartender, Gwen, said as she poured another customer’s drink. She smiled as she handed the cocktail off to a giddy young woman who’d clearly had too much to drink already, but that was how things went at the tavern. So long as you behaved, you could have all you wanted — so long as you behaved and didn’t pass out. Gwen had worked there since the 80s, long enough to become a partner of the owners as well as a manager. She was Mike’s favorite despite her old age. In fact, her stark white hair and trademark California tanned skin were part of her appeal. 

“I am tired,” Mike replied. 

“What’s the case this week? Another lovers’ spat?”

“No. First it was a ten-year-old girl,” Mike said, taking a sip of his bourbon. The coolness of the glass felt magnificent on his lips. Even the burn in his throat felt wonderful after going so long without a drink. 

“Oh… Not a kid,” Gwen said, shaking her head.

“Yeah. Killed by her mother because she wanted an excuse to get a divorce and start a new life. I’m sure you’ll see it on the news.”

“Well, I don’t watch the news. What do I need the news for? I got you.” 

“And that’s enough bad news, right?”

“Exactly,” Gwen said before hurrying down to the other end of the bar where she tended to the rest of her guests. Mike watched her work a little while, then stared down at his glass.

Immediately, his mind went back to his case — back to Tony. Stoddard said that people had filmed the fight at the party. Where would those videos go, he wondered. Online, of course; but how would he find them? Where did he need to look? It used to be easier to find things like that on social media, but then the privacy settings all changed and people became more reserved with what they shared and with whom. They’d have to be really naïve or completely careless to share a video of a hate crime and make it public. 

Still, the kind of people Alfaro would’ve had at the party — the people like Stoddard who didn’t quite fit in — wouldn’t be the smartest. The A-List guests, as Stoddard had put it, would be more conservative and more calculating, but the idiots there to chase skirts and buy drugs probably wouldn’t think twice. 

Mike would have to look into those other people on Luis’ list when he left the bar… If he could remember to do it.

“So then what was the next case if your first one’s the poor kid?” Gwen asked, suddenly in front of Mike again. She was setting a fresh bourbon down in front of him and Mike hadn’t even realized he’d finished his drink and had begun chewing on what was left of the ice.

“I’ve been working on a strange one the past few days.”

“Oh?” Gwen asked, leaning down with her elbows on the bar with interest — as if she knew this story was going to be good already. Sympathetic and seasoned, though she was, Gwen never liked to miss out on a good intrigue. As it turned out, Mike didn’t like to skimp on the suspense either when he knew he had a good story to tell.

“I got a call around eight in the morning and they’re asking me to investigate a scene out along the highway. All they tell me is it’s suspected that the victim was thrown from a moving car.”

“Shit… Poor gal.”

“No — just wait,” Mike said, watching Gwen’s wrinkled face go wide.

“A man?”

“Teenage boy,” Mike said. 

“Oh, you’re kidding! This has been a rough week for you. Two kids? That’s awful, Mike…”

“He’s not really a kid, per se. He’s eighteen.”

“He’s still a kid to me,” Gwen said, quite firmly. 

After deflecting her comment, Mike went on to tell his story, describing how the other officers at the scene regarded the victim as a gang member because he was Hispanic with tattoos. He was still discussing the tattoos Tony had (particularly the _Star Wars_ he had branded across his knuckles) when she poured him his third drink. 

“You sure paid this kid a lot of attention. I’ve never heard you go on about their looks like this before. Usually you won’t tell me nothin’ about them at all.”

“You want to know _why_ I can talk about how he looks? — You want to know _why?_ Because when I got to that scene and pulled back that fucking white sheet they had over Tony, he was still _alive.”_

“What!?” Gwen’s face was blown wide with shock. “You’re kidding!”

“No! He was still _bleeding._ He _moved_ when I looked at him, but they pronounced him dead at the scene and left him there in the fucking sun.”

“Now how in the world did that happen?” Gwen asked.

“Can’t really tell you that part. Open investigation. But what I can say, is that if I didn’t get there, he _would’ve_ died. He’s missing chunks of skin. He was thrown out of a moving car.”

“Is he still hanging on?”

“Yeah. He’s getting the care he needs, but there’s not guarantee he’ll pull through. Even now! He’s got so many open wounds, just one of them gets infected and he could be done for. He could go into cardiac arrest from all the stress he’s under. So much can still go wrong…”

“If he’s still alive, then you did your part. He’s not your case anymore, is he?”

“They don’t want him to be, but I don’t want to give up on him. The officers they have working it… Shit. They’re clueless. I don’t want the people responsible for this to get away with it.”

“Are there any leads?” 

“There’s some, but it’s tough to say where it’ll go. I talked to Tony a bit, but he doesn’t really want to cooperate. He’s scared.”

“I’d imagine! At least he’s conscious.”

“He could still die,” Mike said, staring at his empty glass. They could heal all his injuries and he could still die the day Alfaro realized he was still breathing. “That’s what’s getting to me. I haven’t handled a surviving victim since I first joined the force. I don’t want him to come this far and still not make it.”

“Right? That’s awful, Honey. I’ll be right back,” Gwen tacked on before sliding back over to her customers around the bar. Once she’d refreshed everyone’s drinks and served a few new patrons, she returned to Mike who had pulled the photo he had of Tony out of his pocket again. “Well isn’t he cute?” Gwen said, flipping the picture around on the bar so it faced her.

“He hardly looks like himself now… I can’t get that image of him out of my head. Blood all over him… Had his eyes open and everything.” Mike finished off all the liquor in his glass, then sucked a piece of ice into his mouth and began crunching it between his teeth. “Beat half to death, thrown out of a car… Lying there in the dirt getting sunburnt and dehydrating. He’s so torn up…”

Gwen offered a few more sympathetic words as Mike tucked the photo back into his pocket and ordered a final drink for the night. He thought about how he’d found Tony in the ditch, thought about how he’d started to cry in the hospital bed when Mike questioned him. He was on a good string of questions, too, but he’d let his emotions — let _Tony’s_ emotions — get the better of him.

It was okay though, Mike told himself. Tony needed to rest, and if the questions upset him it was for the best that Mike stopped, even if it meant justice was delayed a day or two. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Not ten minutes after his head hit the pillow (or so it felt) his phone began to ring its piercing, shrill ring — ripping away from the drunken haze of a dream he’d almost been having. He winced at the bright light coming off his phone screen as he tried to get his half-numb fingers to swipe across the glass and answer the call.

“Yeah?—Hello?” Mike asked, cringing at how slurred his voice sounded, even to himself. How in the hell had he even gotten into bed in the first place?

“Hello? De-Detective?” It was a female’s voice, frantic.

“Yeah? Yes. This is Fuentes.”

“Detective, it’s me. We’re—”

“Me? Who is this?” Mike asked, not recognizing the voice at all. For some reason he expected it to be Gwen, but despite their closeness, she didn’t have his personal number.

“Detective?”

“Yeah. Who is this?” Mike asked, less patient this time. He was dizzy and felt as if he were about to be sick. All of this talking in circles wasn’t helping him any either.

“It’s me. Anna Perry. Tony’s sister? I-I’m sorry to wake you, it’s just—”

 

“Did something happen?” Mike asked, fumbling into a sitting position and rubbing the sleep from his blurry eyes.

“Mom and I went home to get some rest and the hospital called. They said Tony went into cardiac arrest while he was sleeping. Why we got here they were still trying to resuscitate him.” Anna was starting to sob and Mike could barely make out what she was saying. Part of him was afraid to understand her, the grim news sobering him up like a bucket of cold water tossed in his face. He was terrified that she was telling him Tony had died in his sleep. “When Mom got the news... I-I must’ve told it to her wrong, ‘cause as soon as she heard she started crying even more. Then Mom fainted and they had to admit her because of her heart condition.”

“Is — Is she alright now? Is Tony?” Mike asked, feeling his stomach twisting up in knots. He was going to vomit, there was no way around it, but he was hoping to keep himself together just long enough to get Anna off the phone.

“Mom’s okay. They’re keeping her until morning for observation, but they won’t let her in to see Tony.”

“But is Tony okay?” Mike asked again. 

“He’s breathing again, but he won’t wake up. He was saying something about his skin hurting under his bandages before we left. They think he has an infection or something… I-I don’t know what to do, Detective. Mom and Tony are both in the hospital. They’re all I have.”

Mike sighed heavily, loathing himself for how drunk he’d managed to get in such a short amount of time. 

“Are you still there, Detective?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Anna. I just woke up. Do you need me to come to the hospital? Are you there by yourself?”

“I am. Would you be able to? I-I know it’s late, but—”

“I’m going to wash up and then I’ll be right over, alright? Are you in your mother’s room?”

“No. I’m in the lobby. They won’t let me sit with her or Tony.”

“Alright. I’ll see you soon. Just try to stay calm.”

“Okay. Thank you, Detective! It — It really means a lot to me that you’ve been there for us this whole time. I know you don’t have to, so thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there soon.” 

They said their goodbyes and hung up the phone, Mike shaking his head as he did. He knew he wasn’t sober enough to drive, but how bad would it look if he arrived at the hospital in a taxi? Someone would surely take notice of that…

Instead of calling a cab, Mike did the next best thing.

“Mike, it’s three in the morning.”

“I need a ride to the hospital,” Mike said, ignoring Vic’s irritable, sleepy tone as he started to undress for a much needed shower.

“Why? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, _I’m_ fine, but Tony’s not. He went into cardiac arrest, then his mother passed out once she heard about it.”

“And let me guess… It’s three in the morning… You’re too drunk to drive there but you still think it’s a good idea to go?”

“Vic, I don’t need a lecture, alright? Anna’s over there all by herself, she’s freaking out—she’s _crying._ I’m not leaving her there alone like that.”

“I’m not driving you over there. You’re wasted. You’re slurring, Mike. Get some sleep and go over in the morning.”

“No! I’m going to take a shower and you’re going to drive me over there.”

“I’m not.”

“Then the next call I make is to your girlfriend and I’m going to tell her about those videos on your laptop.”

“There’s one video! Why would you tell her about that!?”

“Get over here and I won’t have to.”

Whenever Mike mentioned the video, he knew he could get whatever he wanted. Vic valued his girlfriend too much to let her her storm out of his life in a rage — and that was exactly what would happen if she learned he’d made a sex tape without her say-so. She was aspiring to be a model and had finally gotten a bit of attention from agencies in the city — the last thing she needed was to have a nude video of her and her pint-sized boyfriend leaked to the media.

After ending the call, Mike heaved himself up onto his feet and stumbled into his bathroom. The motion sickness gripped him almost instantly and he threw up first in the sink before sinking to his knees by the toilet bowl. Once he was certain his stomach was completely empty, he crawled into his bathtub and pulled the curtain halfway closed before opening the faucet.

He kept the water cold even though he knew it wouldn’t lower the alcohol content in his bloody even a miniscule amount. Mostly, he kept it chilled knowing he might fall asleep under the warm stream of water. It had happened more than once in the past and he’d been late to important meetings or missed vital phone calls. This time, however, there was so much more at stake.

Once he’d finished showering and had gotten dressed, there came a sharp buzz outside his apartment door — Vic coming to pick him up. Even though he knew who to expect, Mike checked the peephole and didn’t undo the locks until he recognized Vic’s backwards hat and oversized T-shirt.

“Thanks again for coming out,” Mike said as he opened the door.

“Whatever. I’m pissed you ever found out about that video.”

“I’m pissed you even made it,” Mike said as he locked the door and started down the hall.

“I find that hard to believe. All you ever do is hold it over my head.”

“Then delete it,” Mike said, knowing his brother never would. He was too desperate to hold onto a piece of her if she ever left him, not realizing (it seemed) that the video could very well be the thing which ruined them.

“Why don’t you quit drinking so you can drive yourself to the hospital at four in the morning?” Vic asked.

“Because I’ve seen too much shit to be able to sleep at night without liquor. You try going to bed with pictures of cut up children behind your eyes. See how long it takes for you to hit the bottle.”

Vic sighed heavily as he led Mike to his car. He seemed to understand well enough why Mike kept drinking and he never argued the point for too long.

“So do they think he’s going to pull through? Your victim?”

“I don’t know. Anna didn’t say and I wasn’t about to ask her. She’s a mess right now.”

“And Anna is…?”

“Tony’s sister. Their dad died when they were kids. Her whole family is in the hospital right now.”

“Yeah… I don’t blame you for wanting to be there for her. Even if you still smell like a brewery.”

“Fuck you. I showered.”

“Right…”

“Even if I stink, she’s still going to be happy I’m there. Besides, it’s not even safe for her to be by herself. Tony’s attackers could come after her just as easily… And with her being a woman, throwing her from a car isn’t going to be good enough for them. They’re going to want more than that before killing her…”

“Yeah. Like I said, I don’t blame you for wanting to be there for her, but I wish you could drive yourself and didn’t have to drag me into it.”

“Yeah, yeah… Thanks for taking me. I really didn’t want to show up in a cab.”

“You just know I’ll do it for free.”

“Yeah… I’m worried about Tony,” Mike found himself saying as he stared out at the passing street lamps.

“I can kind of tell. But, hey, I get it. You don’t usually get to have living victims. It’s gotta be exciting for you.”

“It’s hard… I worry about him all the time. I don’t think a minute goes by that I’m not worried about him. That’s why I was drinking… To get him out of my head for a minute, but even that didn’t work. Sat at the bar, got trashed, and told Gwen all about him.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to discuss open cases,” Vic said, worry in his voice.

“I didn’t give her any details… At least I don’t think I did… I told her how I found him and I showed her his picture.”

“His picture? You’re still carrying that thing around?”

“I like it.”

“You like _him_ you mean,” Vic said urgently.

“I like him enough to want to put whoever did this to him behind bars,” Mike said, catching what he’d said and what his brother was implying. His drunk mind welcomed the idea too much, but the rational parts that were still left in the dizzy mush known as his brains told him to reject it. He didn’t _like_ Tony as anything other than a victim in need of justice. Yeah, sure, he was cute and all, and edgy with his tattoos and gauged ears, but he was a teenager — he was hospitalized and on the brink of death. He was a _stranger._

Mike didn’t _like_ him.

He kept telling himself that, too, as they neared the hospital. He sent a text to Anna once he arrived, urging her to meet him in the lobby so he wouldn’t have to wander the corridors drunkenly searching for her (though he kept the fact that he was inebriated to himself). As soon as Anna appeared, Mike approached her and introduced her to Vic who was quick to depart after making her acquaintance, wishing her family well as he slipped out the doors.

“Has anything happened since you called?” Mike asked, following Anna up to Tony’s hospital room after checking in on the guest log and flashing his credentials when he was informed that visiting hours were over.

“I’ll let his nurse know you’re coming then,” the receptionist said.

The nurse made it clear that they were not to touch Tony or get too close to him since they were trying to keep his room sterile and safe as they prepared him for tomorrow’s round of treatments. He had a very serious infection in his shoulder where his skin had been scraped away and the open wound was being drained. 

Tony looked even worse than he had on the roadside minus the blood. His face was so pale and his eyes were sunken in as if he were dead. 

Mike didn’t understand how it could’ve turned so far around so rapidly. He’d been fine when Mike left the hospital. He’d been awake and talking… Then he’d gone to sleep and had a heart attack. 

Was it the stress? Guilt gnawed away at him as he thought over what he’d said to Tony — what he’d done. He’d pushed too hard and the stress put the teenager into cardiac arrest.

“He looks so awful,” Anna whispered. “I-I feel terrible. They say they don’t know what happened and…I worry, you know? I worry that I said something that upset him and now…”

“If it was anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I asked questions he couldn’t answer. I stressed him… It’s my fault,” Mike said, stepping closer to Tony’s bed even though he’d been warned to keep his distance. Anna followed him closer, but then burst into tears and backed away — proclaiming she couldn’t bear to see him like this and had to wait in the hall.

Tony looked like he wasn’t going to make it, and that realization hurt a lot more than Mike was expecting. He was used to handling victims who had already expired… He didn’t know how to cope with watching one perish before his eyes. Especially one like Tony.

Maybe he was in too deep, but all Mike could think about was how sweet and innocent the boy seemed — even if he’d been less than cooperative when he had been awake. He smiled so sweetly in his photographs, his tattoos were colorful and quirky… Why was a boy like him mixed up with Luis Alfaro? Why was a boy like him getting beaten within an inch of his life and ditched alongside the road?

“I’m so sorry, Tony,” Mike whispered, feeling the guilt eat away at him as he stared at the boy’s pale, sunken face. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard… I didn’t realize you were still so weak. I never meant for you to get hurt again.” It was cruel of him to demand answers to those hard questions. It was cruel of him to push and push until the boy had started crying. It was his greatest fear now that Tony wouldn’t ever wake up again, that his insensitive questioning would be what caused him to die. If that happened…his life was over. If he saved someone only to be the cause of their death, he had no business remaining on the force — and without his job he was nothing. “Just hang in there, okay? We’re going to catch whoever did this to you. We’re going to make sure this doesn’t happen again, alright? I just need you to pull through… I know it hurts right now, but you’re strong. You can make it through this. Your mom and your sister are counting on you, okay? I’m counting on you…”

Tony, of course, didn’t answer. He laid there silently, his eyes closed and bruised with fatigue.


	7. Chapter 7

He had nightmares every night after seeing Tony in the hospital that final time. It didn’t matter what he drank or how much, or if he took melatonin capsules or blacked out the natural way. Every night when he closed his eyes, Mike saw Tony’s body lying in the ditch — mutilated beyond repair, gushing blood, or breaking into pieces the moment Mike tried to touch him. Some nights the dreams were that simple, other nights he stood by the ditch and watched as Tony’s beautiful body rapidly decomposed before his eyes. Sometimes in his nightmares, Tony was awake for that part—his eyes flicking back and forth desperately as he screamed for help, begged Mike to tell him what was going on.

“Am I dying? Oh my, God! Am I dying?” He would ask that question over and over as the rot and decay worked its way over his skin and limbs — up to his mouth until finally he was just screaming in terror and pain, a dying corpse.

Mike would snap awake, gasping for air, wondering the exact same thing.

Was Tony dying? He hadn’t woken up in five days. Was he dying? Was Tony’s unconscious mind asking that same question? What if his consciousness was locked away in the darkness wondering what was becoming of his body?

In a way, the nightmares made him feel connected to Tony — leaving him with the sense that he was experiencing at least some of the boy’s horror — but he would much rather have Tony wake up and connect with him on a more physical level instead.

Arresting Matt Stoddard had given him little satisfaction after Tony went comatose. He got more information, sure, and got to see that asshole locked behind bars whenever he felt like doing a stroll through the local jailhouse, but it wasn’t brining Tony back and it was barely getting him any justice.

His only developments in the case were a few shaky cell phone videos of Tony getting his ass kicked by two of Miguel Alfaro’s goons. Identifying them proved a challenge and the slow progress resulted in Mike being assigned another case and asked to focus on it instead for a while.

“You’re good at what you do. I’d hate to lose you to this case, Fuentes, and never have you come back. It’s happened. You know it’s happened. Don’t _do that_ to yourself. Alright?” That was what his supervisor had said before laying a clear case of spousal homicide on his desk.

The entire time he tried to work the case, his mind was on Tony — feeling as if he were cheating on him with this other case. He owed Tony justice and it wasn’t fair that his attackers could get free simply because Mike couldn’t work quickly enough.

And what of Senora Perry? She’d been hospitalized once already — it’d kill her if Tony passed away. If something went wrong, it was Mike’s job to get justice for everyone.

No one deserved to suffer this way…

But what was Mike to do? He wasn’t going to be able to get anyone who had been at that party to identify the men in the videos—and even if someone did offer up a name, the images were too pixelated to give a good impression of _exactly_ who the perpetrators were. He could attempt to take them to court, but any defense attorney worth his salt would point out how unreliable the video quality was for identification.

Tony didn’t have a single friend at that party willing to vouch for him or speak for him in court… He didn’t have anyone except Luis Alfaro. But Luis wasn’t dumb. He wasn’t about to flip on his brother…but he might just flip on his brother’s _friends._

It was a risk — it would tip Miguel off that the case was still being investigated and that he and his people were suspects — but it was the only move Mike had left. It was either talk to Luis and see if he would help or let the case go cold…

So, after yet another restless night, Mike left his apartment and drove across town to Luis’ dilapidated apartment. This time, the gate was padlocked and the Chow Chow, Cujo aka Pookie, was in the yard. The animal was not at all happy to see Mike step out of his vehicle and immediately began snarling and barking. It leapt at the chain link fence, its fuzzy black feet poking through the gaps in the wires next to its teeth as it bit into the metal.

Mike stood a few paces back from the fence and stared at the windows of Alfaro’s apartment. He saw the curtain move upstairs and waved slowly, causing the curtain to immediately be dropped—the window becoming vacant.

For almost three minutes Mike waited outside with the dog ceaselessly attempting to chew through the fence to reach him, then the front door opened on the duplex and the dog turned its fluffy head to look behind him.

“Cujo! Down! Get over here! Come back inside!” Luis called, slapping his leg until the dog dropped away from the fence and walked slowly up to him. Every few paces it would look back at Mike, threatening him with his beady black eyes, but never turned around completely. He went to his master’s side, and then was closed up in the house while Luis carried his little Chihuahua down the steps with him until he reached the fence. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Officer. Sorry about Pookie. Looked like he was about to try bite your head off.” He laughed when he said it and smiled, but there was malice in his eyes.

Something told Mike that Luis wasn’t as sorry about losing Tony as he had been before.

“Could I come inside to talk? I have some questions about Tony.”

“Sorry. I have someone over and I don’t think he’d be up for that little discussion.” Luis was still grinning as he said it, his eyes still gleaming.

So much for crying over his lost boyfriend — his precious “baby boy” Antonio.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that it didn’t take you very long to move on,” Mike said, knowing it was unprofessional — knowing it was out of line — but unable to keep it back. Tony trusted Luis, and this was how the man repaid him.

“What’s it they say in that movie? With Johnny Depp, you know? The musical? Life is for the living? — No! ‘Life is for the alive,’ they say. He’s not around anymore, right? That’s what you told me. So I can’t put my life on hold when he’s not coming back, right?”

“I have videos from the party that night — videos of Tony getting beat up by two of the guests. If you can help me identify them, I can bring them in for questioning. I could catch whoever did this to Tony.” Mike felt his stomach drop when Luis shook his head. He was still smiling like a fool, but had pressed his lips together — nearly pursing them as he cradled his Chihuahua.

“No, Officer. I’m afraid I can’t help you. You see, I don’t have no respect for two kinds of people: Liars and Whores. See, you are a liar and Antonio… Shit. You say you’ve got videos, well I’ve got pictures. And pictures don’t lie.”

“What makes you say I’m a liar?” Mike asked, keeping his eyes locked on Luis’.

“You came ‘round here telling me all this shit about how you found my Antonio laying in a ditch, no skin left on him — dead. You told me my Antonio was dead! He’s not dead, is he, Officer?”

“I never told you he died. I said I was a homicide investigator. I am. Antonio Perry is still on life support and if he does pass away, which I think he will, this _will be_ a homicide investigation and the more questions you dodge, the guiltier you look. And the jealous lover bit is a real favorite of the jury — especially when it involves low brow drug dealers and fags. They’ll put your ass under the jail just to get you off the streets whether they really think you did it or not.”

The smile finally left Luis’ face and he was left scowling at Mike harshly through the diamonds of the chain link fence.

“You want the truth from me? Have it. I don’t think you had anything to do with Tony getting hurt. I don’t think you _wanted_ him to get hurt even if you thought he was cheating on you. I think you cared about Tony and I think your brother got in your head and changed your mind about it.”

“You said the truth — all you’re giving me is your opinion.”

“I don’t think you’re a suspect, Luis! That’s what I’m telling you. I don’t think you did it, but if I have to I’ll put you on the stand for murder before anyone else. You see, I don’t care about your drug deals. I don’t care how fast you move on after one of your boytoys gets taken away from you. All I care about is getting justice for Tony, and if that means taking down your brother, I will. Believe me, I will.”

“Miguel didn’t give a shit about me and Tony.”

“Now _that’s_ a lie. You told me yourself that Miguel caught you two in bed and that he was angry. Matt Stoddard, a guest at your brother’s party that night, told me everyone knows Miguel doesn’t support your lifestyle and that he goes after all of your boyfriends the minute you break up. But he didn’t like Tony, did he? He thought Tony was a snitch. So instead of waiting around for you to get bored and end it, he ended it for you. Am I right?”

“I told you what happened. Carlos Medina hurt _my_ Antonio.”

“How can you stand there and call him ‘your Antonio’ when you don’t give a rat’s ass about him being in the hospital? You’re so quick to call him unfaithful, but you still want to claim him? I’m not buying it.”

“You want to pin this on my brother and he had nothing to do with it. Show me your videos. Show me who beat up Antonio and I’ll show you Carlos.”

Mike kept his eyes on Luis as he reached into his pocket and took out of his cell phone. Even as he flicked through the files on his phone, he kept taking small glances at Luis and the dog he held close to his chest. Even though Luis was acting as though he were being compliant, he still looked hostile and ready to snap at any moment.

When Mike brought up the video, he held the screen against fence so Luis could see it through the gaps in the wire. He left it up to Luis to press play, then watched the man’s reaction as the violence played out on the screen.

At first, Luis’ face was stern and cold — just as it had been — then his right eye twitched as he watched Tony getting punched in the gut. His whole brow flinched in vicarious pain as he witnessed Tony having his arm pinned behind his back so he was defenseless against the blows to his stomach and face. All the sternness left his features as the video neared its end, and by the time Tony’s body slumped down onto the ground, Luis was holding his Chihuahua up to his face and cuddling into its neck like a child might hold a blanket toward its face to defend against the monsters in the dark.

“That’s not Carlos,” Luis said, his voice cracking. “That’s not Carlos,” he repeated after clearing his throat. “That’s Taylor Betch and Diego C. I…I don’t know his last name. They call him Diego C, or—or just C so we know him apart from…someone else. I didn’t even know they were at the party.”

“So you know them?”

“How could they do that to my Antonio?” Luis muttered, the pain still in his eyes. The man, it seemed, was good at talking tough but his weak spot was still Tony.

“That’s not where it ended, Luis. I wasn’t lying to you when I said he had his skin torn off — and I didn’t lie when I said we had to have his mother identify him because pictures weren’t enough to do it. Who are these men and why would they hurt Tony?”

Luis set his Chihuahua mix down and rubbed at his eyes as if to dispel tears that weren’t yet falling. His face was starting to turn red and Mike couldn’t honestly tell if the man were about to snap into a rage or collapse into tears.

“Miguel told me Carlos took Tony that night.”

“Carlos didn’t have anything to do with it,” Mike said. “Give that idea up. Your _brother_ is the one lying to you.”

“He told me—”

“I don’t care what he told you, Luis. Someone tried to kill your boyfriend, and I know you’ve already _clearly_ moved on, but that boy deserves justice. Alright? All he did was trust _you,_ and that’s what got him into this mess. You left him alone and _this_ happened to him,” Mike said, replaying the video and thrusting the screen back against the fence. Even if Luis wouldn’t look at it, he could still hear the sounds of the small crowd cheering as well as the punches and grunts of pain Tony let out as he was struck.

“I don’t understand,” Luis muttered. “I have _pictures_ of him with Carlos. I have _pictures…_ Miguel told me he left with Carlos. Miguel told me Carlos did it. Carlos said he did it…”

“Carlos told you he did it?”

“Carlos told Miguel he did it…”

“And Miguel told you it was Carlos?”

“I don’t _understand…”_

“Luis, I need your help. Whoever did this to Tony needs to pay.”

“What hospital is he in?” Luis asked, as if he didn’t hear Mike speaking at all.

“I cannot tell you that,” Mike said.

“I want to see him.”

“And have his attackers follow you and finish the job? Not going to happen.”

“You said Matt Stoddard was arrested… He’ll tell me. He was the ambulance driver, wasn’t he? That’s how you caught him.”

“Stoddard isn’t going to tell you anything. He’s a homophobic creep and you’re the last person he’d tell,” Mike said, fear prickling the back of his neck. There was no doubt in his mind that Stoddard would talk. If he could find any benefit in it, any benefit at all, he would spill his guts to anyone in hopes that Tony would be attacked again and the job would be finished—it would prove his loyalty, after all. It would prove that he was still trying to be on Miguel’s side despite the legal trouble it landed him.

“I want to see my Antonio…”

“And what are you going to tell the guy you’ve got in your bed right now?”

“Him? Fuck him, man. He doesn’t got shit on my baby boy.” With that said, anger in his voice again, Luis snatched up his Chihuahua and stared back toward his apartment. “Taylor Betch works at the Eighth Street McDonalds if you want him. I’ll deal with C my fuckin’ self.” The ferocity in his tone told Mike he intended to do so at once.

( ) ( ) ( )

Tony woke up in the dark, feeling cold — freezing cold; and as he lay in the icy bed shivering, teeth chattering, he felt his skin starting to burn with white hot pain. He hated how weak it made him feel when tears started running down his cheeks, but he was past the point of feeling ashamed. He was tired and hurting and lonely. 

He knew that all he had to do was press the red call button by his fingertips to summon a nurse, but a nurse wasn’t who he wanted. He wanted his mother and he wanted _Luis._ He didn’t care what the detective had to say — Tony wanted to be with Luis and it was so painful that his boyfriend had yet to stop by. 

Though Luis probably didn’t know he was here… Anna certainly wasn’t going to tell him and their mother wouldn’t.

It was becoming hard to think, though, as that burning pain started overcoming more and more of him until he couldn’t help but to press the call button.

By that point he was quietly sobbing, unable to bear the agony much longer. He wanted to peel his way out of his own skin just to escape it—he wanted his arm and his shoulder amputated if it was going to cause this much pain to regrow his skin. 

“It’s alright. It’ll be alright, Tony. We’ll get you some medicine. It’s good to see you open your eyes again,” the nurse said as she drifted into the room from the brightly-lit hallway. 

“Where’s my mom?” Tony asked, feeling disoriented as the nurse shifted the pillows behind his head and raised the mattress until he was sitting more upright. “Where is she?”

“Your mother’s resting right now, Tony. It’ll be okay. Just stay calm, alright?”

The words didn’t make sense to him. His mother had been in the room with him almost every minute that he’d been awake — why was she suddenly gone? He knew she needed to rest or else she would fall sick, too, but why didn’t she just sleep in the chair like before.

“I’ll be right back with the doctor. He’ll get you some medicine for the pain. Just try to stay still, alright?”

“Okay,” Tony whispered, settling back against the mattress. He was still cold, and his shivering made the burning pain that much worse. It felt like an eternity passed before the nurse and the doctor came back. Right away he had something added to his IV which made him dizzy, then he was practically force-fed a glass of water and three pills. 

“You’ve been asleep for a while, Tony. You had us all worried.”

“What?” Tony tried to make sense of it, but nothing came together. He recognized his doctor—he knew where he was. Why were they treating him the same way they had when he’d first regained consciousness after being brought in?

“What’s the last thing you remember, Tony?” The doctor asked before nodding to the nurse who slowly brought up the overhead lights until they were lit just enough for it to hurt without being blinding.

“I…I was talking to my mom and Anna. I remember seeing the detective and…having dinner.”

“Then what, Tony?” The doctor asked casually as he jotted down the numbers on the machines hooked to Tony.

“I don’t know… I guess I went to sleep.”

“It’s good to know you didn’t suffer any memory loss. Your vitals seem strong, too.”

“What’s going on?” Tony asked, looking to the nurse this time since the doctor didn’t care to elaborate.

“When you fell asleep, you went into cardiac arrest. It took quite the effort to revive you,” the doctor said.

“You’ve been asleep about nine days now,” the nurse added.

“Nine days?” Tony felt the tears in his eyes grow that much heavier. He thought he’d been getting better. Now he was beginning to feel he’d never be allowed to leave the hospital — and each day he stayed, each new treatment he received, cost his mother more and more money she didn’t have.

He was going to make them lose their house all because he’d decided to listen to Luis and go to that stupid party.

“Hey, now… Tony, it’s okay,” the nurse said, cooing over him the same way his mother did. 

“It was just your body’s way of telling us you needed more rest before treatment,” the doctor said. “You’ve been under an immense amount of stress and those stress hormones are what led to the cardiac arrest. From now on we’ll be monitoring your stress levels and we’ll start you on a low dose of sedatives to keep you at ease.”

“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” Tony said, already terrified that one more nap might be enough to kill him. 

“It won’t be enough to knock you out, just enough to keep you calm and at ease.”

Tony didn’t care how it was worded. The thought alone terrified him and he didn’t _want_ put on sedatives. Not for any reason. 

“I want to see my mom,” Tony said.

“You can’t see her right now, but your sister has been staying in the lounge the past few nights. I’m sure she’d be happy to see you,” the doctor said.

“Where is my mom?” 

Something had happened to her — that was the only conclusion Tony could come to. Anna wouldn’t be sleeping alone in the hospital while his mother was somewhere “resting.” Not unless his mother had been hospitalized too.

“Is my mom okay?” Tony asked, not taking ‘she’s just resting’ for an answer again. He hated how childish the tears on his face made him feel, but it was frightening for him. His mother was all he had and he didn’t want to lose her just like he had his father — he didn’t want to lose her and know that it was his fault.

“She over exerted herself and we thought it was best she have a room here where she could lay down and recuperate—”

“She’s in the hospital! Don’t try to lie to me! She had another heart attack, didn’t she!? _Didn’t she!?”_

“No, Tony, she did not. Calm down now or you’re going to be given a full sedative. She was very fatigued and we thought, given her condition and the amount of stress she’s under, it was best for everyone that she be given a room. She is admitted as a patient, but she’s free to leave whenever she’d like.”

“How long has she been hospitalized?” Tony asked.

“She’s not hospitalized, Tony. She’s resting.”

He didn’t understand why the doctor was trying to sugarcoat it. Didn’t he realize his lies were making everything worse?

“It’s important she sleep through the night. I’ll be sure to tell her first thing in the morning that you’re awake and that you’ve been asking for her. After that, I’m sure she won’t even feel the need to have a room at all.”

Tony sniffed and turned his gaze away from the doctor.

“I’ll go get Anna,” the nurse said, smiling at Tony before departing the room.

“I think that detective might still be around, too. He’s been here several times a day since you’ve been asleep,” the doctor said.

Tony, still not looking at the man, merely nodded and ignored the doctor when he said he was leaving the room. 

His mind was elsewhere…

He remembered the detective with the neck tattoos, but couldn’t imagine a single reason the man had to be creeping around him as he slept. It wasn’t like he could get a statement out of Tony while he was in a coma, so what did he want?

To protect him, maybe. The thought struck Tony almost too deeply and he quickly filed the idea away. If the detective felt he was in that much danger, it might mean someone had tried to take his life again…

Perhaps even Miguel himself.

_“Así es como mueres, pequeña perra.”_

Tony still remembered the look on Miguel’s face as he said it. His eyes as dark as the shadows cast across his face. The only light in the backseat of the SUV being the dim glow of the dashboard lights and the sharp, orange flame inches from his face.

He thought he was going to be set on fire. He thought, as the vehicle slowed and Diego C opened the door. Tony remembered looking up, watching the desert sky go rushing past. He saw a black sky and white stars…

Like _Star Wars,_ he’d thought. Then he remembered being pushed.

“Tony?”

He lifted his head, welcoming the distraction from his memories — his secrets.

“Hi, Anna,” he said, finally lifting a hand to wipe his face. He felt more pathetic with her looking down at him than he did with the doctors and nurses. She knew him to be stronger than this. He _wanted_ her to know he was stronger than this. Without their father, he was the man of the house and it was his job to protect her and make her feel safe — even if he was the younger sibling.

“How are you feeling?”

“My arm hurts a lot,” Tony said before quickly tacking on, “I’m fine though. It’s not as bad as it was.”

“You don’t have to act tough for me, Tony. I know this hurts you a lot. I’ve watched them change your bandages… I-I know how bad it is.” She didn’t look at him as she said it, and Tony noticed tears were lining her eyes too. “I’m really scared for you, Tony.”

“I’m fine,” Tony said, knowing immediately that he shouldn’t have.

“No you’re not! You had a heart attack like Mom! You could’ve died, Tony! You’re _not_ fine!”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, feeling more tears hit him than he could ever hope to suppress. He was sorry this happened — he truly was. If he’d known the party would’ve ended like this, he never would’ve gone. He would’ve told Luis no or asked if they could meet up somewhere else since Luis _never_ took no for an answer. If he’d only realized how much danger he was actually in before it was too late… If he’d just known Luis was going to let him down and abandon him that night, he would’ve stayed home all together.

“The detective made three arrests in your case,” Anna said. “He’s going to want to talk to you.”

“I’m not telling him anything. If I do, they’re going to come back for me.”

“They could come back for you anyway! The only way they can’t get to you is if they’re _in jail.”_

“Maybe, but they’ll still get out. I _can’t,_ Anna. I’m sorry, but I can’t snitch on them. They’ve already tried to kill me once. Throwing me out a car isn’t going to be good enough the second time and I _know_ what they do to people, okay? I’ve seen it. I don’t want it done to me. I’d rather we just drop it and leave it alone.”

“Leave it alone? Antonio, are you stupid? Did your fucking brains fall out when you hit the pavement!? They’ll _never_ leave you alone! They have a hit out on you. They’re a _gang,_ Tony. The only way you’re off their list is if they’re all dead or in jail.”

“We’ll they can’t all go to jail!”

“I beg to differ. I have four in custody now, including your idiot boyfriend Luis Alfaro.”

Tony’s head snapped up and his eyes locked on the detective’s dark, reflective glasses. He didn’t know why, but the look on that man’s face sent a bolt of fear through his entire body. Maybe he’d been with Luis too long, but being near a member of law enforcement at all was enough to make him an anxious wreck — let alone having one speak to him.

“Wh-Why did you arrest Luis?” Tony asked, feeling the heaviness of his tears again. Luis had nothing to do with it. He didn’t deserve to be imprisoned just because he’d stormed off in a jealous, drunken fit. Luis was trying to turn his life around — being sent back to jail was just going to undo all of his progress.

“Why did I arrest Luis? Well, let’s see… Withholding information, interfering with a criminal investigation, tampering with evidence, resisting arrest, assault on a police officer—” The detective emphasized that charge by lowering his sunglasses to reveal a severely bruised left eye, “—and the original call which led to his arrest: Domestic violence.”

“Domestic violence?” That didn’t sound like Luis at all. Any stranger on the street he wouldn’t think twice about cutting if they made him mad, but someone he knew? Someone he cared about? No. Luis would never hurt someone in his family—not even Miguel. 

“Apparently his new lover said something he didn’t like and got popped on the mouth for it. Kid isn’t as smart as you though. He didn’t know any better than to go telling the cops about it.”

“Detective, this isn’t the time,” Anna said, her voice shaking yet somehow stern. She was worried the bad news would send Tony back into a coma — and maybe she should be — but it made Tony feel like less of a man to have his sister sticking up for him. 

“It’s okay, Anna. I want to know what happened to Luis.” Tony managed to meet the detective’s gaze, but only for a few seconds before he had to look away. He couldn’t stand up to this man. He’d seen Luis stand up to security guards and police officers and men of authority so many times, yet he couldn’t even muster the courage to look the man in his eyes.

“I’ll have you know, Tony, I wanted to believe Luis was innocent just as much as you do. He wasn’t arrested because I wanted to take him down or because my force is looking for someone to pin this on. He was arrested for punching his lover and the investigation just happened to lead back into your case. I’m sorry.”

“What did you find?” Tony asked, trying to remember anything from that night which might’ve proved to him that Luis was involved. Aside from being left alone, there was nothing. He didn’t see Luis when he was getting beaten. He didn’t see Luis when he was dragged out back of the house. He didn’t see his boyfriend anywhere as his clothes were stripped and he was led, blindfolded, across the rough desert earth and stuffed into the back of Taylor Betch’s SUV. 

“We found your clothing from the night of the assault and your cell phone in Luis’ bedroom. It’s assumed his lover found them and confronted Luis about cheating on him.”

“Assumed?” Tony asked. It sounded like the police were stretching the truth, just to say the phone and the clothing were in plain sight during their response. 

“That’s what the lover states. Luis claims he was framed and his lover stashed them. It’s a real mess, Tony. I know you’re tired right now and you need your rest, but when you’re feeling more like yourself, I really need your help solving this.”

“I can tell you right now that Luis didn’t have anything to do with it. I _keep_ telling you that but you don’t listen. He’d _never_ hurt me.”

“His history says otherwise. He has quite the habit of hitting his partners. If you’re one of the few he hasn’t, you should consider yourself lucky. And you are pretty lucky… So maybe you’re right. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt you, but I don’t think he was framed. Not by the punk he was shacking up with anyway. That guy looked like a moron to me.” 

Tony wished the man would just drop it. He didn’t like hearing about Luis being with someone else. They’d been exclusive since they met, and it had stayed that way no matter how jealous Luis got. How could he have moved on so quickly? It was as if Tony didn’t mean anything to him at all.

“Tony, I just need to ask you one more thing, then we can leave this conversation. Alright?”

“Fine,” Tony said, staring down at the _Star Wars_ blanket draped over his legs. It had been there since he’d first woken up in the hospital and he wondered if it was his mother or Anna who had brought it for him.

“Taylor Betch, Diego Chavez, Paulo Nunez, and Miguel Alfaro. They were the ones who took you out to the highway that night. Correct?”

He had each of them figured out, but Tony knew better than to say so.

“No.”

“You’re lying. You know how I can tell you’re lying? Because you won’t look at me and your top lip pulls back every time you tell me you don’t know something or can’t remember. And it pulled back just now. You’re lying to me.”

“Detective. He just woke up. Is this really necessary?” Anna said, sticking up for Tony yet again when it wasn’t her responsibility.

“I have four men in custody right now. I need a statement, Tony. You’re trying to get me to believe you ended up out there by yourself, but we know that’s not what happened. How about this, Tony… I ask you a name, you say yes or no. Taylor Betch?”

“No.”

“Really? Because we found your blood in his SUV and your lip just twitched. Try again. Taylor Betch.”

Tony stared at the blanket, his breaths growing heavier and heavier. He felt so cornered now. If he spoke, Miguel’s people were going to come after him… But they would anyway, wouldn’t they, if they knew he was still alive? Keeping his silence didn’t do anything for him. It just protected Miguel. 

But he was the most important one… Luis could forgive him for turning over a lowlife like Taylor Betch and Diego C, but not Miguel. If Tony flipped on Miguel, Luis might kill him himself.

“Taylor Betch?”

“Yes…”

“Diego Chavez?”

“He… He was there.”

“Paulo Nunez?”

“I can’t remember,” Tony said, making certain his fucking lip stayed still. 

“I’d ask you about Miguel Alfaro, but I already know what you’re going to say. I understand that you’re scared and confused, but there are very bad people you’ve gotten yourself mixed up with. They tried to kill you once and there’s nothing to stop them from doing it again unless you help us to put them behind bars. Luis isn’t going to turn on his brother to protect you.”

“Miguel wasn’t there,” Tony said, trying to meet the detective’s gaze.

The detective gave a heavy sigh and shook his head before putting his sunglasses back on. Somehow, the disappointment in his face managed to hurt.

“Well, that’s all I need for now. Feel better, Tony,” he said, then added on to Anna, “If anything happens, let me know.”

“I will,” Anna said, frowning as the detective left the room. 

When she turned her attention back to Tony, he felt as if he’d been smacked. There was so much hurt and anger in her eyes that he could hardly stand it. 

As his head fell back against the pillow, he began to wish he’d never woken up at all.


End file.
